* 


ONE    OF    THEM. 


BY 


CHARLES    LEVER. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY   PHIZ. 


BOSTON: 
LITTLE,   BROWN,    AND   COMPANY. 

1902. 


John  Wilson  and  Son,  Cambuidge,  U.S.A. 


TO  THE 

RIGHT  HONOURABLE  JAMES  WHITESIDE,  M.P, 

ETC.,    ETC.,    ETC. 


My  dear  Whiteside,  —  Amongst  all  the  friends  I  can  count 
over  in  my  own  country,  and  from  whom  space  and  the  acci- 
dents of  life  have  separated,  and  may  separate  me  to  the  last, 
there  is  not  "  One  of  Them "  for  whom  I  entertain  a  sincerer 
regard,  united  with  a  higher  hope,  than  yourself;  and  it  is  in 
my  pride  to  say  so  openly,  that  I  ask  you  to  accept  of  this 
dedication  from 

Your  attached  friend, 

CHARLES   LEVER. 

Spezia,  December  20,  1860. 


193071 


A  WORD   OF  APOLOGY  FOR  MY 
TITLE. 


Before  I  begin  my  story,  let  me  crave  my  reader's  indul- 
gence for  a  brief  word  of  explanation,  for  wliicli  1  know  no 
better  form  than  a  parable. 

There  is  an  Eastern  tale  —  I  forget  exactly  where  or  by 
whom  told  —  of  a  certain  poor  man,  who,  being  in  extreme 
distress,  and  sorely  puzzled  as  to  how  to  eke  out  a  livelihood, 
bethought  him  to  give  out  that  he  was  a  great  magician, 
endowed  with  the  most  marvellous  powers,  amongst  others, 
that  of  tracing  out  crime,  and  detecting  the  secret  history  of 
all  guilty  transactions.  Day  after  day  did  he  proclaim  to  the 
world  his  wonderful  gifts,  telling  his  fellow-citizens  what  a 
remarkable  man  was  amongst  them,  and  bidding  them  thank 
Destiny  for  the  blessing  of  his  presence.  Now,  though  the 
story  has  not  recorded  whether  their  gratitude  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  we  are  informed  that  the  Caliph  heard  of  the 
great  magician,  and  summoned  him  to  his  presence,  for  it 
chanced  just  at  the  moment  that  the  royal  treasury  had  been 
broken  into  by  thieves,  and  gems  of  priceless  value  carried 
away. 

"  Find  out  these  thieves  for  me,"  said  the  Caliph,  "  or  with 
your  own  head  pay  the  penalty  of  their  crime." 

"Grant  me  but  forty  days,  O  king,"  cried  he,  "and  I 
will  bring  them  all  before  you." 

So  saying,  he  went  away,  but  was  no  sooner  at  liome  and 
in  the  solitude  of  his  own  house  than  he  tore  his  beard,  beat 
his  breast,  and,  humbling  his  head  to  the  ground,  cried  out. 


viii  A  WORD  OF  APOLOGY  FOR  MY  TITLE. 

"Sou  of  a  burned  father  was  I,  not  to  be  content  with 
poverty  and  a  poor  existence !  Why  did  I  ever  pretend  to 
gifts  that  1  had  not,  or  dare  to  tell  men  that  I  possessed 
powers  that  were  not  mine?  See  to  what  vainglory  and 
boastfulness  have  brought  me.  In  forty  days  I  am  to  die 
an  ignominious  death  !  " 

Thus  grieving  and  self-accusing,  the  weary  hours  passed 
over,  and  the  night  closed  in  only  to  find  him  in  all  the 
anguish  of  his  sorrow ;  nor  was  it  the  least  poignant  of  his 
sufferings,  as  he  bethought  him  that  already  one  of  his  forty 
days  was  drawing  to  its  close,  for  in  his  heart  he  had  des- 
tined this  period  to  enjoyment  and  self-indulgence. 

Now,  though  aspiring  to  the  fame  of  a  magician,  so  little 
learning  did  he  possess,  that  it  was  only  by  recourse  to  a 
contrivance  he  was  able  to  reckon  the  days  as  they  passed, 
and  calculate  how  much  of  life  remained  to  him.  The  ex- 
pedient he  hit  upon  was  to  throw  each  night  into  an  olive-jar 
a  single  date,  by  counting  which  at  any  time  he  could  know 
how  many  days  had  elapsed. 

While  his  own  conscience  smote  him  bitterly  for  the  foolish 
deception  he  had  practised,  there  were,  as  it  happened, 
others  who  had  consciences  too,  and  somewhat  more  heavily 
charged  than  his  own.  These  were  the  thieves  who  had 
stolen  the  treasure,  and  who  firmly  believed  in  the  magician's 
powers.  Now,  it  so  chanced  that  on  the  very  instant  he 
was  about  to  throw  his  first  date  into  the  jar,  one  of  the 
robbers  had  crept  noiselessly  to  the  window,  and,  peering 
through  the  half-closed  shutter,  watched  what  was  doing 
within.  Dimly  lighted  by  a  single  lamp,  the  chamber  was 
half  shrouded  in  a  mysterious  gloom  ;  still,  the  figure  of  a 
man  could  be  descried,  as,  with  gestures  of  sorrow  and  suffer- 
ing, he  approached  a  great  jar  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
bent  over  it.  It  was  doubtless  an  incantation,  and  the  robber 
gazed  with  all  eagerness;  but  what  was  his  terror  as  he 
beheld  the  man  drop  something  into  the  jar,  exclaiming,  as 
he  did  so,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Let  Allah  be  merciful  to  us ! 


A  WORD  OF   APOLOGY   FOR   MY  TITLE.  ix 

there  is  one  of  them  !  "  With  the  speed  of  a  guilty  heart  he 
liurried  back  to  his  confederates,  saying,  "  I  had  but  placed 
my  eye  to  the  chink,  when  he  knew  that  I  was  there,  and 
cried,   '  Ha !  there  is  one  of  them  ! '  " 

It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  go  on  to  tell  how  each 
night  a  new  thief  stole  to  the  window  at  the  same  critical 
moment  to  witness  the  same  ceremony,  and  listen  to  the 
same  terrible  words ;  as  little  needful  to  record  how,  when 
the  last  evening  of  all  closed  in,  and  the  whole  robber  baud 
stood  trembling  without,  the  magician  dropped  upon  his 
knees,  and,  throwing  in  the  last  of  his  dates,  cried  out, 
"  There  are  all  of  them!"  The  application  of  the  story  is 
easy.  You,  good  reader,  are  the  Caliph,  —  the  mock  magician 
is  myself.  Our  tale  will  probably,  from  time  to  time,  re- 
veal who  may  be 

"  One  of  Them." 


C0]srTE:NrTS  to  vol.  l 


Chaptee  Pagb 

I.     A  Piazza  after  Sunset 1 

II.     The  Villa  Caprini 9 

III.  Travelling  Acquaintance 16 

IV.  Visitors 22 

V.  Accidents  and  their  Consequences  ....  28 

VI.     The  Member  for  Inchabogue 39 

VII.     Mrs.  Penthony  Morris 48 

VIII.     Port-na-Whapple 60 

IX.     A  Dinner  at  the  Rectory ,     .  77 

X.     The  Laboratory 89 

XI.     A  Remittance 100 

XII.  A  Fellow-Traveller  on  the  Coach.     .     .     .  110 

XIII.  How  they  Lived  at  the  Villa 116 

XIV.  The  Billiard-Room 125 

XV.  Mrs.    Penthony    IMouris    and    iter   Writing- 
Table    136 

XVI.     A  SiCK-RooM       147 

XVII.     A  Master  and  Man 157 

XVIIL     Mrs.  Morris  as  Counsellor 171 

XIX.     Joe's  Diplomacy .     .  179 

XX.     A  Dreary  Forenoon 188 

XXL  Mr.    O'Shea    upon    Politics,   and    Things    in 

General 107 

XXII.     The  Public  Servant  Abroad 208 

XXIIL  Broken  Ties       .....     o.„     o     ...  215 


xii  CONTENTS. 

Chaptbe  Page 

XXIV.  A  Day  in  Early  Spring 228 

XXV.  Behind  the  Scenes 238 

XXVI.  A  Dark  Remembrance 249 

XXVII.  The  Fragment  of  a  Letter 273 

XXVIII.  The  O'Shea  at  his  Lodgings 276 

XXIX.  Old  Letters 285 

XXX.  Twist,  Trover,  and  Co 294 

XXXI.  In  the  Toils 304 

XXXII.  A  Drive  round  the  Cascine  at  Florence  316 

XXXIII.  Sir  William  in  the  Gout 328 

XXXIV.  A  Warm  Discussion 340 

XXXV.  Loo  AND  HER  Father 348 

XXXVI.  A  Grave  Scene  in  Light  Company  .     .     .  356 

XXXVII.  Mr.  Stocmar's  Visit 365 

XXXVIII.  Very  Outspoken  on  the  World  at  Large  375 

XXXIX.  From  Clara 381 

xl.  quackinbossiana 388 

XLI.  Quackinboss  at  Home       396 

XLII.  A  New  Location 404 

XLIII.  Bunkumville 418 

XLIV.  The  Lecturer 425 

XLV.  Of  Bygones 431 

XL VI.  The  Doctor's  Narrative 436 

XLVII.  A  Happy  Accident 446 

XLVIII.  At  Rome 452 

XLIX.  The  Palazzo  Balbi 467 

L.  Three  Met  Again 477 


co:n^te:n^ts  to  yol.  ii. 


Chapter  Page 

I.  The  Lone  Villa  on  the  Campagna    ....  489 

II.  A  Dinner  of  Two 499 

III.  Some  Last  Words 508 

IV.  Found  out 513 

V.  The  Manager's   Room  at  the  "  Regent's  "     .  520 

VI.  Mr.  O'Shea  at  Baden 527 

VII.  The  Cottage  near  Bregenz 535 

VIII.  Consultation 555 

IX.  Words  of  Good  Cheer 564 

X.  The  Letter  from  Alfred  Layton     ....  571 

XI.  An  Eager  Guest 579 

XII.  Conclusion 585 


ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   PHIZ. 

lEtdjittfls. 

Page 

A  CuR-RiSH  Saint Frontispiece 

doixg  mueray 16 

The  Poker  Room 200 

The  Struggle ,  534 

Ellustrations  in  t!je  Ceit. 

Mrs.  Morris  disabled 37 

Gaffing  a  Big  Fish 63 

The  Laboratory 91 

A  Thousand  Pardons 123 

The  Sick  Room 153 

A  Consultation .  173 

Ogden  and  Quackenboss 209 

The  Recognition 247 

Before  "The  House" 279 

Twist,  Trover,  &  Co 297 

Super-vision 325 

Loo  and  her  Father 349 

The  Meeting  at  the  Masquerade 359 

The  Guardian  and  his  Ward 371 

Mr.  Dan  Heron  objects  to  being  disturbed  in  Bed     .  411 

"Like  old  times" 471 

The  Letter 473 

The  Handwriting 517 

Symptoms  of  Weakness 643 


ONE  OF  THEM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A    PIAZZA    AFTER    SUNSET. 

One  of  the  most  depressing  and  languid  of  all  objects  is  the 
aspect  of  an  Italian  city  in  the  full  noon  of  a  hot  summer's 
day.  The  massive  buildings,  fortress-like  and  stern,  which 
show  no  touch  of  life  and  habitation  ;  the  glaring  streets,  un- 
traversed  by  a  single  passer  ;  the  wide  piazza,  staring  vacantly 
in  the  broiling  sun  ;  the  shop  doors  closed,  all  evidencing  the 
season  of  the  siesta,  seem  all  waiting  for  the  hour  when  long 
shadows  shall  fall  over  the  scorched  pavement,  and  some  air 
—  faint  though  it  be  —  of  coming  night  recall  the  population 
to  a  semblance  of  active  existence. 

With  the  air  of  a  heated  wayfarer,  throwing  open  his  coat 
to  refresh  himself,  the  city,  at  last,  flings  wide  jalousie  and 
shutter,  and  the  half-baked  inhabitant  strolls  forth  to  taste 
the  "  bel  fresco."  It  is  the  season  when  nationalities  are  seen 
undisturbed  by  the  presence  of  strangers.  No  travellers  are 
now  to  be  met  with ;  the  heavy  rumbling  of  the  travelling- 
carriage  no  longer  thunders  over  the  massive  causeway ;  no 
postilion's  whip  awakes  the  echoes  of  the  Piazza ;  no  land- 
lord's bell  summons  the  eager  household  to  the  deep-arched 
doorway.  It  is  the  People  alone  are  abroad,  — that  gentle 
Italian  people,  quiet-looking,  inoffensive  as  they  are.  A  sort 
of  languid  grace,  a  kind  of  dignified  melancholy,  pervades 
their  demeanor,  not  at  all  unpleasing;  and  if  the  stranger 
come  fresh  from  the  west  of  Europe,  with  its  busy  turmoil 
and  zeal  of  money-getting,  he  cannot  but  experience  a 
1 


2  ONE  OF  THEM. 

sense  of  calm  and  relief  in  the  aspect  of  this  easily 
satisfied  and  simple  population.  As  the  gloom  of  evening 
thickens  the  scene  assumes  more  of  life  and  movement. 
Vendors  of  cooling  drinks,  iced  lemonades,  and  such-like, 
move  along  with  gay  flags  flaunting  over  the  brilliant  urn- 
like copper  that  contains  the  refreshing  beverage.  Water- 
melons, in  all  the  gushing  richness  of  color,  are  at  every 
corner,  and  piles  of  delicious  fruit  lie  under  the  motley 
glare  from  many  a  paper  lantern.  Along  the  quays  and 
bridges,  on  wide  terraces  or  jutting  bastions,  wherever  a 
breath  of  fresh  air  can  be  caught,  ci'owds  are  seated, 
quietly  enjoying  the  cool  hour.  Not  a  sound  to  be  heard, 
save  the  incessant  motion  of  the  fan,  which  is,  to  this 
season,  what  is  the  cicala  to  the  hot  hour  of  noon.  One 
cannot  help  feeling  struck  by  the  aspect  of  a  people  come 
thus  to  blend,  like  the  members  of  one  large  family. 
There  they  are,  of  every  age  and  of  every  condition, 
mingling  with  a  sort  of  familiar  kindliness  that  seems  like 
a  domesticity. 

In  all  this  open-air  life,  with  its  inseparable  equality,  one 
sees  the  embers  of  that  old  fire  which  once  kindled  the  Italian 
heart  in  the  days  of  their  proud  and  glorious  Republics.  They 
are  the  descendants  of  those  who,  in  the  self-same  spots,  dis- 
cussed the  acts  of  Doges  and  Senates,  haughty  citizens  of 
states,  the  haughtiest  of  all  their  age  —  and  now  — 

Whether  come  by  chance  or  detained  by  some  accident, 
two  English  travellers  were  seated  one  evening  in  front  of 
the  Cafe  Doney,  at  Florence,  in  contemplation  of  such  a 
scene  as  this,  listlessly  smoking  their  cigars ;  they  con- 
versed occasionally,  in  that  "  staccato"  style  of  conversation 
known  to  smokers. 

One  was  an  elderly,  fine-looking  man,  of  that  hale  and 
heai'ty  stamp  we  like  to  think  English ;  the  young  fellow 
at  his  side  was  so  exactly  his  counterpart  in  lineament 
and  feature  that  none  could  doubt  them  to  be  father  and 
son.  It  is  true  that  the  snow-white  hair  of  one  was  rep- 
resented by  a  rich  auburn  in  the  other,  and  the  quiet 
humor  that  lurked  about  the  father's  mouth  was  concealed 
in  the  son's  by  a  handsome  moustache,  most  carefully 
trimmed  and  curled. 


A   PIAZZA  Ai-rER   SUNSET.  3 

The  cafe  behind  them  was  empty,  save  at  a  single  table, 
where  sat  a  tall,  gaunt,  yellow-cheeked  man,  counting  and 
recounting  a  number  of  coins  the  waiter  had  given  him  in 
change,  and  of  whose  value  he  seemed  to  entertain  mis- 
givings, as  he  held  them  up  one  by  one  to  the  light  and 
examined  them  closely.  In  feature  he  was  acute  and  pene- 
trating, with  a  mixture  of  melancholy  and  intrepidity  pecu- 
liarly characteristic;  his  hair  was  long,  black,  and  wave- 
less,  and  fell  heavily  over  the  collar  of  his  coat  behind ; 
his  dress  was  a  suit  of  coffee-colored  brown,  —  coat,  waist- 
coat, and  trousers ;  and  even  to  his  high-peaked  conical 
hat  the  same  tint  extended.  In  age,  he  might  have  been 
anything  from  two-and-thirty  to  forty,  or  upwards. 

Attracted  by  an  extraordinary  attempt  of  the  stranger  to 
express  himself  in  Italian  to  the  waiter,  the  young  English- 
man turned  round,  and  then  as  quickly  leaning  down  towards 
his  father,  said,  in  a  subdued  voice,  "  Only  think;  there  he 
is  again  !  The  Yankee  we  met  at  Meurice's,  at  Spa,  Ems, 
the  Righi,  Como,  and  Heaven  knows  where  besides !  There 
he  is  talking  Italian,  own  brother  to  his  French,  and  with  the 
same  success  too  !  " 

"Well,  well,  Charley,"  said  the  other,  good-humoredly, 
"it  is  not  from  an  Englishman  can  come  the  sneer  about 
such  blunders.  We  make  sad  work  of  genders  and  declen- 
sions ourselves ;  and  as  for  our  American,  I  rather  like  him, 
and  am  not  sorry  to  meet  him  again." 

"  You  surely  cannot  mean  that.  There  's  not  a  fault  of 
his  nation  that  he  does  not,  in  one  shape  or  other,  represent ; 
and,  in  a  word,  he  is  a  bore  of  the  first  water." 

"  The  accusation  of  boredom  is  one  of  those  ugly  confes- 
sions which  ennui  occasionally  makes  of  its  own  inability  to 
be  interested.  Now,  for  my  part,  the  Yankee  does  not 
bore  me.  He  is  a  sharp,  shrewd  man,  always  eager  for 
information." 

"  I  'd  call  him  inquisitive,"  broke  in  the  younger. 

"There's  an  honest  earnestness,  too,  in  his  manner, — a 
rough  vigor  —  " 

"That  recalls  stump-oratory,  and  that  sledge-hammer 
school  so  popular  'down  west.'" 

"It  is  because  he  is  intensely  American  that  I  like  him, 


4  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Charley.  I  heartily  respect  the  honest  zeal  with  which  he  tells 
you  that  there  are  no  institutions,  no  country,  no  people  to 
be  compared  with  his  own." 

"  To  me,  the  declaration  is  downright  offensive ;  and  I 
think  there  is  a  wide  interval  between  prejudice  and  an 
enlightened  patriotism.  And  when  I  hear  an  American 
claim  for  his  nation  a  pre-eminence,  not  alone  in  courage, 
skill,  and  inventive  genius,  but  in  all  the  arts  of  civilization 
and  refinement,  I  own  I  'm  at  a  loss  whether  to  laugh  at  or 
leave  him." 

*  "Take  my  advice,  Charley,  don't  do  either;  or,  if  you 
must  do  one  of  the  two,  better  even  the  last  than  the  first." 

Half  stung  by  the  tone  of  reproof  in  these  words,  and  half 
angry  with  himself,  perhaps,  for  his  own  petulance,  the 
young  man  flung  the  end  of  his  cigar  away,  and  walked  out 
into  the  street.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he  done  so  when 
the  subject  of  their  brief  controversy  arose,  and  approached 
the  Englishman,  saying,  with  a  drawling  tone  and  nasal 
accent,  "How  is  your  health,  stranger?  I  hope  I  see  you 
pretty  well?  " 

"  Quite  so,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  other  cordially,  as  he 
moved  a  chair  towards  him. 

"You've  made  a  considerable  tour  of  it  [pronounced 
"tower"]  since  we  met,  I  reckon.  You  were  bound  to 
do  Lombardy,  and  the  silkworms,  and  the  rice-fields,  and  the 
ancient  cities,  and  the  galleries,  and  such-like,  —  and  you  've 
done  them?  " 

The  Englishman  bowed  assent, 

"Well,  sir,  so  have  I,  and  it  don't  pay.  No,  it  don't! 
It's  noways  pleasing  to  a  man  with  a  right  sense  of  human 
natur'  to  see  a  set  of  half-starved  squalid  loafers  making 
a  livin'  out  of  old  tombs  and  ruined  churches,  with  lying 
stories  about  martyrs'  thumb-nails  and  saints'  shin-bones. 
That  won't  make  a  people,  sir,  will  it?" 

"  But  you  must  have  seen  a  great  deal  to  intei*est  you, 
notwithstanding." 

"  At  Genoa,  sir.  I  like  Genoa,  —  they  're  a  wide-awake, 
active  set  there.     They  've  got  trade,  sir,  and  they  know  it." 

"  The  city,  I  take  it,  is  far  more  prosperous  than  pleas- 
ant, for  strangers?" 


A   PIAZZA   AFTER   SUNSET.  5 

"Well  now,  sir,  that  ere  remark  of  yours  strikes  me  as 
downright  narrow,  and,  if  I  might  be  permitted,  I  'd  call  it 
mean  illiberal.  Why  should  you  or  I  object  to  people  who 
prefer  their  own  affairs  to  the  pleasant  task  of  amusing  us  ?  " 

"  Nay,  I  only  meant  to  observe  that  one  might  find  more 
agreeable  companions  than  men  intently  immersed  in  money- 
getting." 

"Another  error,  and  a  downright  English  error  too;  for 
it 's  one  of  your  national  traits,  stranger,  always  to  abuse 
the  very  thing  that  you  do  best.  What  are  you  as  a  people 
but  a  hard-working,  industrious,  serious  race,  ever  striving 
to  do  this  a  little  cheaper,  and  that  a  little  quicker,  so  as  to 
beat  the  foreigner,  and  with  all  that  you  '11  stand  up  and  say 
there  ain't  nothing  on  this  universal  globe  to  be  compared  to 
loafing ! " 

' '  I  would  hope  that  you  have  not  heard  this  sentiment 
from  an  Englishman." 

"  Not  in  them  words,  not  exactly  in  them  terms,  but  from 
the  same  platform,  stranger.  Why,  when  you  want  to  exalt 
a  man  for  any  great  service  to  the  state,  you  ain't  satisfied 
with  making  him  a  loafer,  —  for  a  lord  is  just  a  loafer,  and 
no  more  nor  no  less,  —  but  you  make  his  son  a  loafer,  and 
all  his  descendants  forever.  What  would  you  say  to  a  fellow 
that  had  a  fast  trotter,  able  to  do  his  mile,  on  a  fair  road,  in 
two  forty-three,  who,  instead  of  keeping  him  in  full  working 
condition,  and  making  him  earn  his  penny,  would  just  turn 
him  out  in  a  paddock  to  burst  himself  with  clover,  and  the 
same  with  all  his  stock,  for  no  other  earthly  reason  than  that 
they  were  the  best  blood  and  bone  to  be  found  anywhere? 
There  ain't  sense  or  reason  in  that,  stranger,  is  there  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  the  parallel  applies." 

"INIaybe  not,  sir;  but  you  have  my  meaning;  perhaps  I 
piled  the  metaphor  too  high;  but  as  John  Jacob  Byles  says, 
'  If  the  charge  has  hit  you,  it  don't  signify  a  red  cent  what 
the  wadding  was  made  of.'  " 

"I  must  say  I  think  you  are  less  than  just  in  your  esti- 
mate of  our  men  of  leisure,"  said  the  Englishman,  mildly. 

"I  ain't  sure  of  that,  sir;  they  live  too  much  together, 
like  our  people  down  South,  and  that 's  not  the  way  to  get  rid 
of  prejudices.     They  've  none  of  that  rough-and-tumble  with 


6  ONE  OF  THEM. 

the  world  as  makes  men  broad-minded  and  marciful  and 
forgiving;  and  they  come  at  last  to  that  wickedest  creed 
of  all,  to  think  themselves  the  superfine  salt  of  the  earth. 
Now,  there  ain't  no  superfine  salt  peculiar  to  any  rank  or 
class.  Human  natur'  is  good  and  bad  everywhere,  —  ay, 
sir,  I  '11  go  further,  I  've  seen  good  in  a  Nigger!  " 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  the  Englishman, 
repressing,  but  not  without  difficulty,  a  tendency  to  smile. 

"'Yes,  sir,  there  's  good  amongst  all  men,  —  even  the 
Irish." 

"I  feel  sori'y  that  you  should  make  them  an  extreme 
case." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "they  're 
main  ugly,  —  main  ugly,  that 's  a  fact.  Not  that  they  can 
do  tis  any  mischief.  Our  constitution  is  a  mill  where 
there's  never  too  much  water,  — the  more  power,  the  more 
we  grind ;  and  even  if  the  stream  do  come  down  somewhat 
stocked  with  snags  and  other  rubbish  upon  it,  the  machine  is 
an  almighty  smasher,  and  don't  leave  one  fragment  sticking 
to  the  other  when  it  gets  a  stroke  at  'em.  Have  you  never 
been  in  the  States,  stranger?" 

"Never.  I  have  often  planned  such  a  ramble,  but  circum- 
stances have  somehow  or  other  always  interfered  with  the 
accompl  ishment. " 

"Well,  sir,  you're  bound  to  go  there,  if  only  to  correct 
the  wrong  impressions  of  your  literary  people,  who  do 
nothing  but  slander  and  belie  us." 

"Not  latterly,  surely.  You  have  nothing  to  complain  of 
on  the  part  of  our  late  travellers." 

"I  won't  say  that.  They  don't  make  such  a  fuss  about 
chewing  and  whittling,  and  the  like,  as  the  first  fellows; 
but  they  go  on  a-sneering  about  political  dishonesty,  Yan- 
kee sharpness,  and  trade  rogueries,  that  ain't  noways  pleas- 
ing, —  and,  what 's  more,  it  ain't  fair.  But  as  /  say,  sir, 
go  and  see  for  yourself,  or,  if  you  can't  do  that,  send  your 
son.     Is  n't  that  young  man  there  your  son?  " 

The  young  Englishman  tm-ned  and  acknowledged  the 
allusion  to  himself  by  the  coldest  imaginable  bow,  and 
that  peculiarly  unspeculative  stare  so  distinctive  in  his 
class  and  station. 


A  PIAZZA   AFTER   SUNSET.  7 

"I'm  unreasonable  proud  to  see  you  again,  sir,"  said  tiie 
Yankee,  rising. 

"Too  much  honor!  "  said  the  other,  stitfly. 

"No,  it  ain't,  — no  honor  whatever.  It 's  a  fact,  though, 
and  that 's  better.     Yes,  sir,  I  like  j/ou  !  " 

The  young  man  merely  bowed  his  acknowledgment,  and 
looked  even  more  haughty  than  before.  It  was  plain,  how- 
ever, that  the  American  attached  little  significance  to  the 
disdain  of  his  manner,  for  he  continued  in  the  same  easy, 
unembarrassed  tone,  — 

"Yes,  sir,  I  was  at  Lucerne  that  morning  when  you  flung 
the  boatman  into  the  lake  that  tried  to  prevent  your  landing 
out  of  the  boat.  I  saw  how  you  buckled  to  your  work,  and 
I  said  to  myself,  '  There  's  good  stuff  there,  though  he  looks 
so  uncommon  conceited  and  proud.'  " 

"Charley  is  ready  enough  at  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  the 
father,  laughing  heartily;  and,  indeed,  after  a  moment  of 
struggle  to  maintain  his  gravity,  the  young  man  gave  way 
and  laughed  too. 

The  American  merely  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  half 
sternly,  and  as  if  vainly  trying  to  ascertain  the  cause  of 
their  mirth.  The  elder  Englishman  was  quick  to  see  the 
awkwardness  of  the  moment,  and  apply  a  remedy  to  it. 

''I  was  amused,"  said  he,  good-humoredly,  "at  the  men- 
tion of  what  had  obtained  for  my  son  your  favorable  opinion. 
I  believe  that  it 's  only  amongst  the  Anglo-Saxon  races 
that  pugnacity  takes  place  as  a  virtue." 

"Well,  sir,  if  a  man  has  n't  got  it,  it  very  little  matters 
what  other  qualities  he  possesses.  They  say  courage  is  a 
bull-dog's  property;  but  would  any  one  like  to  be  lower 
than  a  bull-dog?  Besides,  sir,  it  is  what  has  made  i/ou 
great,  and  us  greater." 

There  was  a  tone  of  defiance  in  this  speech  evidently 
meant  to  provoke  a  discussion,  and  the  young  man  turned 
angrily  round  to  accept  the  challenge,  when  a  significant 
look  from  his  father  restrained  him.  With  a  few  common- 
place observations  dexterously  thrown  out,  the  old  man  con- 
trived to  change  the  channel  of  conversation,  and  then, 
reminded  by  his  watch  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  he  apolo- 
gized for  a  hasty  departure,  and  took  his  leave. 


8  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Well,  was  I  right?"  said  the  young  man,  as  he  walked 
along  at  his  father's  side.  "Is  he  not  a  bore,  and  the  worst 
of  all  bores  too,  —  a  quarrelsome  one  ?  " 

"I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Charley.  It  was  plain  he 
did  n't  fancy  our  laughing  so  heartily,  and  wanted  an  ex- 
planation which  he  saw  no  means  of  asking  for;  and  it  was, 
perhaps,  as  a  sort  of  reprisal  he  made  that  boastful  speech ; 
but  I  am  deeply  mistaken  if  there  be  not  much  to  like  and 
respect  in  that  man's  nature." 

"There  may  be  some  grains  of  gold  in  the  mud  of  the 
Arno  there,  if  any  one  would  spend  a  life  to  search  for 
them,"  said  the  youth,  contemptuously.  And  with  this 
ungracious  speech  the  conversation  closed,  and  they  walked 
on  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE    VILLA    CAPRINI. 


It  was  a  few  days  after  the  brief  scene  we  have  just  recorded 
that  the  two  Englishmen  were  seated,  after  sunset,  on  a  little 
terraced  plateau  in  front  of  an  antiquated  villa.  As  they 
are  destined  to  be  intimate  acquaintances  of  our  reader  in 
this  tale,  let  us  introduce  them  by  name,  —  Sir  William 
Heathcote  and  his  sou  Charles. 

With  an  adherence  to  national  tastes  which  are  rapidly 
fading  away,  they  were  enjoying  their  wine  after  dinner,  and 
the  spot  they  had  selected  for  it  was  well  chosen.  From 
the  terrace  where  the}'  sat,  a  perfect  maze  of  richly  wooded 
glens  could  be  seen,  crossing  and  recrossing  each  other  in 
every  direction.  From  the  depths  of  some  arose  the  light 
spray  of  boiling  mountain  torrents;  others,  less  wild  in 
character,  were  marked  by  the  blue  smoke  curling  up  from 
some  humble  homestead.  Many  a  zigzag  path  of  trellis- 
vines  straggled  up  the  hillsides,  now  half  buried  in  olives, 
now  emerging  in  all  the  grotesque  beauty  of  its  own  way- 
ward course.  The  tall  maize  and  the  red  lucerne  grew  luxu- 
riously beneath  the  fig  and  the  pomegranate,  while  here 
and  there  the  rich  soil,  rent  with  heat,  seemed  unable  to 
conceal  its  affluence,  and  showed  the  yellow  gourds  and  the 
melons  bursting  up  through  the  fruitful  earth.  It  was  such 
a  scene  as  at  once  combined  Italian  luxuriance  with  the  ver- 
dant freshness  of  a  Tyrol  landscape,  and  of  which  the  little 
territory  that  once  called  itself  the  Duchy  of  Lucca  can  boast 
many  instances. 

As  background  to  the  picture,  the  tall  mountains  of  Car- 
rara, lofty  enough  to  be  called  Alps,  rose,  snow-capped  and 
jagged  in  the  distance,  and  upon  their  summits  the  last  rays 


10  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  the  setting  sun  now  glowed  with  the  ruddy  brilliancy  of 
a  carbuncle. 

These  Italian  landscapes  win  one  thoroughly  from  all  other 
scenery,  after  a  time.  At  first  they  seem  hard  and  stern ; 
there  is  a  want  of  soft  distances;  the  eye  looks  in  vain  for 
the  blended  shadows  of  northern  landscape,  and  that  rustic 
character  so  suggestive  of  country  life;  but  in  their  clear 
distinctness,  their  marvellous  beauty  of  outline,  and  in 
that  vastness  of  view  imparted  by  an  atmosphere  of  cloud- 
less purity,  there  are  charms  indisputably  great. 

As  the  elder  Englishman  looked  upon  this  fair  picture,  he 
gave  a  faint  sigh,  and  said:  "I  was  thinking,  Charley,  what 
a  mistake  we  make  in  life  in  not  seeking  out  such  spots  as 
these  when  the  world  goes  well  with  us,  and  we  have  our 
minds  tuned  to  enjoyment,  instead  of  coming  to  them  care- 
worn and  weary,  and  when,  at  best,  they  only  distract  us 
momentarily  from  our  griefs." 

"And  my  thought,"  said  the  younger,  "was,  what  a 
blunder  it  is  to  come  here  at  all.  This  villa  life  was  only 
endurable  by  your  Italian  noble,  who  came  here  once  a  year 
to  squabble  with  his  '  Fattore '  and  grind  his  peasants.  He 
came  to  see  that  they  gave  him  his  share  of  oil  and  did  n't 
water  his  miserable  wine;  he  neither  had  society  nor  sport. 
As  to  our  English  country-house  life,  what  can  compare 
with  it!" 

"Even  that  we  have  over-civilized,  making  it  London  in 
everything,  —  London  hours,  London  company,  topics, 
habits,  tastes,  all  smacking  of  town  life.  Who,  I  ask  you, 
thinks  of  his  country  existence,  nowadays,  as  a  period  of 
quietness  and  tranquil  enjoyment?  Who  goes  back  to  the 
shade  of  his  old  elms  to  be  with  himself  or  some  favorite 
author  that  he  feels  to  like  as  a  dear  friend?" 

"  No ;  but  he  goes  for  famous  hunting  and  the  best  shoot- 
ing in  Europe,  it  being  no  disparagement  to  either  that  he 
gets  back  at  evening  to  a  capital  dinner  and  as  good  com- 
pany as  he  'd  find  in  town." 

"May  is  of  viy  mind,"  said  Sir  William,  half  trium- 
phantly; "she  said  so  last  night." 

"And  she  told  me  exactly  the  reverse  this  morning,"  said 
the  younger.     "She  said  the  monotony  of  this  place  was 


THE   VILLA   CAPRINL  11 

driving  her  mad.  Scenery,  she  remarked,  without  people, 
is  pretty  much  what  a  panorama  is,  compared  to  a  play." 

"May  is  a  traitress;  and  here  she  comes  to  make  confes- 
sion to  which  of  us  she  has  been  false,"  said  Sir  "William, 
gayly,  as  he  arose  to  place  a  chair  for  the  young  girl  who 
now  came  towards  them. 

"I  have  heard  you  both,  gentlemen,"  said  she,  with  a 
saucy  toss  of  her  head,  "and  I  should  like  to  hear  why  I 
should  not  agree  with  each  and  disagree  afterwards,  if  it  so 
pleased  me." 

"Oh!  if  you  fall  back  upon  prerogative  —  "  began  Sir 
William. 

"I  have  never  quitted  it.  It  is  in  the  sovereignty  of  my 
woman's  will  that  I  reconcile  opinions  seemingly  adverse, 
and  can  enjoy  all  the  splendors  of  a  capital  and  all  the 
lameness  of  a  village.  I  showed  you  already  how  I  could 
appreciate  Paris;  I  mean  now  to  prove  how  charmed  I  can 
be  with  the  solitudes  of  Marlia." 

"Which  says,  in  plain  English,"  said  the  young  man, 
"that  you  don't  care  for  either." 

"Will  you  condescend  to  be  a  little  more  gallant  than  my 
cousin,  sir,"  said  she,  turning  to  Sir  William,  "and  at  least 
give  me  credit  for  having  a  mind  and  knowing  it?" 

There  was  a  pettish  half-seriousness  in  her  tone  that  made 
it  almost  impossible  to  say  whether  she  was  amused  or 
angry,  and  to  this  also  the  changeful  expression  of  her  beau- 
tiful features  contributed;  for,  though  she  smiled,  her  dark 
gray  eyes  sparkled  like  one  who  invited  a  contradiction. 
In  this  fleeting  trait  was  the  secret  of  her  nature.  May 
Leslie  was  one  of  Fortune's  spoiled  children,  — one  of  those 
upon  whom  so  many  graces  and  good  gifts  had  been  lav- 
ished that  it  seemed  as  though  Fate  had  exhausted  her 
resources,  and  left  herself  no  more  to  bestow. 

She  had  surpassing  beaut}',  j'outh,  health,  high  spirits,  and 
immense  wealth.  By  her  father's  will  she  had  been  con- 
tracted in  marriage  with  her  distant  relative,  Charles  Heath- 
£ote,  with  the  proviso  that  if,  on  attaining  the  age  of 
nineteen,  she  felt  averse  to  the  match,  she  should  forfeit 
a  certain  estate  in  Wales  which  had  once  belonged  to  the 
Heathcotes,  and  contained  the  old  residence  of  that  family. 


12  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Sir  William  and  his  son  had  been  living  in  the  retirement 
of  a  little  German  capital,  when  the  tidings  of  this  ward- 
ship reached  them.  A  number  of  unfortunate  speculations 
had  driven  the  baronet  into  exile  from  England,  and  left 
him  with  a  pittance  barely  sulticient  to  live  in  the  strictest 
economy.  To  this  narrow  fortune  Charles  Heathcote  had 
come  back,  after  serving  in  a  most  extravagant  Hussar 
regiment,  and  taking  his  part  in  an  Indian  campaign;  and 
the  dashing  soldier  first  heard,  as  he  lay  wounded  in 
the  hospital,  that  he  must  leave  the  service,  and  retire  into 
obscurity.  If  it  had  not  been  for  his  strong  affection  for 
his  father,  Charles  would  have  enlisted  as  a  private  soldier, 
and  taken  his  chance  for  future  distinction,  but  he  could 
not  desert  him  at  such  a  moment,  nor  separate  himself  from 
that  share  of  privation  which  should  be  henceforth  borne 
in  common ;  and  so  he  came  back,  a  bronzed,  brave  soldier, 
true-hearted  and  daring,  and,  if  a  little  stern,  no  more  so 
than  might  be  deemed  natural  in  one  who  had  met  such  a 
heavy  reverse  on  the  very  threshold  of  life. 

Father  and  son  were  at  supper  in  a  little  arbor  of  their 
garden  near  Weimar,  when  the  post  brought  them  the  start- 
ling news  that  May  Leslie,  who  was  then  at  Malta,  would  be 
at  Paris  in  a  few  days,  where  she  expected  to  meet  them. 
When  Sir  William  had  read  through  the  long  letter  of  the 
lawyer,  giving  an  account  of  the  late  General  Leslie's  will, 
with  its  strange  condition,  he  handed  it  to  his  son,  without 
a  word. 

The  young  man  read  it  eagerly ;  his  color  changed  once 
or  twice  as  he  went  on,  and  his  face  grew  harder  and  sterner 
ere  he  finished.  "Do  you  mean  to  accept  this  wardship?  " 
asked  he,  hurriedly. 

"There  are  certain  reasons  for  which  I  cannot  decline  it, 
Charley,"  said  the  other,  mildly.  "All  my  life  long  I  have 
been  Tom  Leslie's  debtor,  in  gratitude,  for  as  noble  a 
sacrifice  as  ever  man  made.  We  were  both  suitors  to  your 
mother,  brother  oflScers  at  the  time,  and  well  received  in 
her  father's  house.  Leslie,  however,  was  much  better  looked 
on  than  myself,  for  I  was  then  but  a  second  son,  while  he 
was  the  heir  of  a  very  large  estate.  There  could  not  have 
been  a  doubt  that  his  advances  would  have  outweighed  mine 


THE   VILLA   CAPRINL  13 

in  a  father  and  mother's  estimate,  and  as  he  was  madly  in 
love,  there  seemed  nothing  to  prevent  his  success.  Find- 
ing-, however,  in  a  conversation  with  your  mother,  that  her 
affections  were  mine,  he  not  only  relinquished  the  place  in 
my  favor,  but,  although  most  eager  to  purchase  his  troop, 
suffered  me,  his  junior,  to  pass  over  his  head,  and  thus 
attain  the  rank  which  enabled  me  to  marry.  Leslie  went 
to  India,  where  he  married,  and  we  never  met  again.  It 
was  only  some  seven  or  eight  months  ago  I  read  of  his  being 
named  governor  of  a  Mediteri'anean  dependency,  and  the 
very  next  paper  mentioned  his  death,  when  about  to  leave 
Calcutta." 

"  It  is,  then,  most  probable  that,  when  making  this  will, 
he  had  never  heard  of  our  reverses  in  fortune  ?  "  said  the 
young  man. 

"  It  is  almost  certain  he  had  not,  for  it  is  dated  the  very 
year  of  that  panic  which  ruined  me." 

"And,  just  as  likely,  might  never  have  left  such  a  will, 
had  he  known  our  altered  fortunes  ?  " 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  At  all  events,  lean  answer 
for  it  that  no  change  in  our  condition  would  have  made  Tom 
Leslie  alter  the  will,  if  he  had  once  made  it  in  our  favor." 

"I  have  no  fancy  for  the  compact,  read  it  how  you  may," 
said  Charles,  impatiently;  "nor  can  I  say  which  I  like 
least,  —  the  notion  of  marrying  a  woman  who  is  bound  to 
accept  me,  or  accepting  a  forfeit  to  release  her  from  the 
obligation." 

"I  own  it  is  —  embarrassing,"  said  Sir  "William,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation  in  choosing  a  suitable  word. 

"A  downright  indignity,  I'd  call  it,"  said  the  other, 
warmly,  "and  calculated  to  make  the  man  odious  in  the 
woman's  eyes,  whichever  lot  befell  him." 

"The  wardship  must  be  accepted,  at  all  events,"  said  Sir 
William,  curtly,  as  he  arose  and  folded  up  the  letter, 

"You  are  the  best  judge  of  that;  for  if  it  depended  upon 
me  —  " 

"Come,  come,  Charley,"  said  Sir  William,  in  his  tone  of 
habitual  kindness,  "this  life  of  quiet  obscurity  and  poverty 
that  we  lead  here  has  no  terrors  for  me.  I  have  been  so 
long  away  from  England  that  if  I  went  back  to-morrow  I 


14  ONE   OF   THEM. 

should  look  in  vain  for  any  of  my  old  companions.  I  have 
forgotten  the  habits  and  the  ways  of  home,  and  I  have 
learned  to  submit  myself  to  twenty  things  here  which  would 
be  hardships  elsewhere,  but  I  don't  like  to  contemplate  the 
same  sort  of  existence  for  you :  I  want  to  speculate  on  a 
very  different  future ;  and  if  —  if  —  Nay,  you  need  not  feel 
so  impatient  at  a  mere  conjecture." 

"Well,  to  another  point,"  said  the  young  man,  hastil}'. 
"We  have  got,  as  you  have  just  said,  to  know  that  we  can 
live  very  comfortably  and  contentedly  here,  looking  after 
our  celery  and  seakale,  and  watching  our  silver  groschen; 
are  you  so  very  certain  that  you  'd  like  to  change  all  this 
life,  and  launch  out  into  an  expensive  style  of  living,  to  suit 
the  notions  of  a  rich  heiress,  and,  what  is  worse  again,  to 
draw  upon  Jier  resources  to  do  it?  " 

"I  won't  deny  that  it  will  cost  me  severely;  but,  until  we 
see  her  and  know  her,  Charley,  until  we  find  out  whether  she 
may  be  one  whose  qualities  will  make  our  sacrifices  easy  —  " 

"Would  you  accept  this  charge  if  she  were  perfectly 
portionless,  and  without  a  shilling  in  the  world?" 

"If  she  were  Tom  Leslie's  daughter,  do  you  mean?  " 

"Ay,  any  one's  daughter?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  would,  boy;  and  if  I  were  only  to  consult 
my  own  feelings  in  the  matter,  I  'd  say  that  I  'd  prefer  this 
alternative  to  the  other." 

"Then  I  have  no  more  to  say,"  said  the  son,  as  he  walked 
away. 

Within  a  month  after  this  conversation,  the  little  cottage 
was  shut  up,  the  garden  wicket  closed  with  a  heavy  padlock, 
and  to  any  chance  inquirer  after  its  late  residents,  the 
answer  returned  was,  that  their  present  address  was  Place 
Vendome,  Paris. 

"Tell  me  your  company,"  said  the  old  adage;  but,  alas! 
the  maxim  had  reference  to  other  habits  than  our  present- 
day  ones.  With  what  company  now  does  not  every  man 
mix?  Bishops  discuss  crime  and  punishment  with  ticket- 
of-leave  men;  fashionable  exquisites  visit  the  resorts  of 
thieves;  "swell  people"  go  to  hear  madrigals  at  Covent 
Garden;  and,  as  for  the  Ring,  it  is  equally  the  table-land  to 
peer  and  pickpocket.     If,  then,  you  would  hazard  a  guess 


THE   VILLA   CAPRINI.  15 

as  to  a  man's  manners  nowadays,  ask  not  his  company, 
but  bis  whereabouts.  Run  your  eye  over  the  addresses  of 
that  twice-remanded  insolvent,  ranging  from  Norfolk  Street, 
Strand,  to  Berkeley  Square,  with  Boulogne-sur-Mer,  St. 
John's  Wood,  Cadiz,  the  New  Cut,  Bermondsey,  and  the 
Edgware  Road,  in  the  interval,  and  say  if  you  cannot,  even 
out  of  such  slight  materials,  sketch  off  his  biography. 

''The  style  is  the  man,"  says  the  adage;  and  we  might 
with  as  much  truth  say,  "the  street  is  the  man."  In  his 
locality  is  written  his  ways  and  means,  his  manners,  his 
morals,  his  griefs,  joys,  and  ambitions.  We  live  in  an  age 
prolific  in  this  lesson.  Only  cast  a  glance  at  the  daily  sac- 
rifices of  those  who,  to  reside  within  the  periphery  of  great- 
ness, submit  to  a  crushing  rent  and  a  comfortless  al)ode. 

Think  of  him  who,  to  date  his  note  " Street,  Berkeley 

Square,"  denies  himself  honest  indulgence,  all  because  the 
world  has  come  to  believe  that  certain  spots  are  the  "Regions 
of  the  Best,"  and  that  they  who  live  there  must  needs  be 
that  grand  English  ideal,  —  respectable. 

Dear  me,  what  unheard-of  sacrifices  does  it  demand  of 
humble  fortunes  to  be  Respectable!  what  pinching  and 
starving  and  saving!  what  self-denial  and  what  striving! 
what  cheerless  little  dinner-parties  to  other  Respectables! 
what  dyeing  of  black  silks  and  stoving  of  old  ostrich  feath- 
ers! And  how  and  wherefore  have  we  wandered  off  in  this 
digression!  Simply  to  say  that  Sir  William  Heathcote 
and  his  ward  were  living  in  a  splendid  quarter  of  Paris,  and 
after  that  rambled  into  Germany,  and  thence  to  Como  and 
down  to  Rome,  very  often  delighted  with  their  choice  of 
residence,  enjoying  much  that  was  enjoyable,  but  still  — 
shall  we  own  it?  —  never  finding  the  exact  place  they  seemed 
to  want,  nor  exactly  the  people  with  whom  they  were  will- 
ing to  live  in  intimacy.  They  had  been  at  Baden  in  the 
summer,  at  Como  in  the  late  autumn,  at  Rome  in  the  winter, 
at  Castellamare  in  the  spring,  —  everywhere  in  its  season, 
and  yet  somehow —  And  so  they  began  to  try  that  last 
resource  of  bored  people,  —  places  out  of  the  season  and 
places  out  of  common  resort,  —  and  it  was  thus  that  they 
found  themselves  at  Florence  in  June,  and  in  Marlia  in 
July. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TRAVELLING    ACQUAINTANCE. 

About  the  same  hour  of  the  same  eveuiug  which  we  have 
just  chronicled,  a  group  of  persons  sat  under  some  spread- 
ing chestnut-trees  beside  a  brawling  little  rivulet  at  the 
Bagni  de  Lucca.  They  were  travellers,  chance  acquaint- 
ances thrown  together  by  the  accidents  of  the  road,  and 
entertained  for  each  other  those  varied  sentiments  of  like 
and  dislike,  those  mingled  distrusts,  suspicions,  and  be- 
liefs, which,  however  unconsciously  to  ourselves,  are  part 
of  the  education  travelling  impresses,  and  which,  when 
long  persevered  in,  make  up  that  acute  but  not  always  ami- 
able individual  we  call  "an  old  traveller." 

We  are  not  about  to  present  them  all  to  our  reader,  and 
will  only  beg  to  introduce  to  his  notice  a  few  of  the  notabil- 
ities then  present.  Place  aux  dames!  then;  and,  first  of 
all,  we  beg  attention  to  the  dark-ej^ed,  dark-haired,  and 
very  delicately  featured  woman,  who,  in  half-mourning,  and 
with  a  pretty  but  fantastically  costumed  girl  beside  her,  is 
working  at  an  embroidery-frame  close  to  the  river.  She 
is  a  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris,  the  wife  or  the  widow  —  both 
opinions  prevail  —  of  a  Captain  Penthony  Morris,  killed 
in  a  duel,  or  in  India,  or  alive  in  the  Marshalsea,  or  at 
Baden-Baden,  as  may  be.  She  is  striking-looking,  admi- 
rably dressed,  has  a  most  beautiful  foot,  as  you  may  see 
where  it  rests  upon  the  rail  of  the  chair  placed  in  front  of 
her,  and  is,  altogether,  what  that  very  smartly  dressed, 
much-beringed,  and  essenced  young  gentleman  near  her  has 
already  pronounced  her,  "a  stunning  fine  woman."  He  is 
a  Mr.  Mosely,  one  of  those  unhappy  young  Londoners  whose 
family  fame  is  ever  destined  to  eclipse  their  own  gentility, 
for  he  is  immediately  recognized,  and  drawlingly  do  men 


;*Mx> 


8\- 


^'^     OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


^ 


TRAVELLING  ACQUAINTANCE.  17 

inquire  some  twenty  times  a  day,  "Ain't  he  a  son  of  Trip 
and  Mosely's,  those  fellows  in  Bond  Street?"  Unhappy 
Trip  and  Mosely!  why  have  you  rendered  yourselves  so 
great  and  illustrious?  why  have  your  tasteful  devices  in 
gauze,  your  "sacrifices  "  in  challis,  your  "last  new  things  in 
grenadine,"  made  such  celebrity  around  you,  that  Tom 
Mosely,  "out  for  his  travels,"  can  no  more  escape  the  shop 
than  if  he  were  languishing  at  a  customer  over  a  "sweet 
article  in  white  tarlatan  "  ?  In  the  two  comfortable  arm- 
chairs side  by  side  sit  two  indubitable  specimens,  male  and 
female,  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  family,  —  Mr.  Morgan,  that 
florid  man,  wiping  his  polished  bald  head,  and  that  fat  lady 
fanning  with  all  her  might.  Are  they  not  English?  They 
are  ''out,"  and,  judging  from  their  recorded  experiences, 
only  dying  to  be  "in"  again.  "Such  a  set  of  cheating, 
lying,  lazy  set  of  rascals  are  these  Italians!  Independence, 
sir;  don't  talk  to  me  of  that  humbug!  What  they  want  is 
English  travellers  to  fleece  and  English  women  to  marry." 
Near  to  these,  at  full  length,  on  two  chairs,  one  of  which 
reclines  against  a  tree  at  an  angle  of  about  forty  degrees, 
sits  our  Yankee  acquaintance,  whom  we  may  as  well  present 
by  his  name,  Leonidas  Shaver  Quackinboss;  he  is  smoking 
a  "Virginian  "  about  the  size  of  a  marshal's  bdton,  and 
occasionally  sipping  at  a  "cobbler,"  which  with  much  pains 
he  has  compounded  for  his  own  drinking.  Various  others 
of  different  ranks  and  countries  are  scattered  about,  and  in 
the  centre  of  all,  at  a  small  table  with  a  lamp,  sits  a  short, 
burly  figure,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  superciliousness  and 
drollery  in  his  face,  as  though  there  were  a  perpetual  con- 
test in  his  nature  whether  he  would  be  impertinent  or  amus- 
ing. This  was  Mr.  Gorman  O'Shea,  Member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  Inchabogue,  and  for  three  weeks  a  Lord  of  the 
Treasury  when  O'Connell  was  king. 

Mr.  O'Shea  is  fond  of  public  speaking.  He  has  a  taste 
for  proposing,  or  seconding,  or  returning  thanks  that  verges 
on  a  passion,  so  that  even  in  a  private  dinner  with  a  friend 
he  has  been  known  to  arise  and  address  his  own  companion 
in  a  set  speech,  adorned  with  all  the  graces  and  flowers  of 
post-prandial  eloquence.  Upon  the  present  occasion  he 
has  been,  to  his  great  delight,  deputed  to  read  aloud  to  the 


18  ONE   OF  THEM. 

company  from  that  magic  volume  by  which  the  Continent 
is  expounded  to  Englishmen,  and  in  whose  pages  they  are 
instructed  in  everything,  from  passports  to  pictures,  and 
drilled  in  all  the  mysteries  of  money,  posting,  police  regu- 
lations, domes,  dinners,  and  Divine  service  by  a  Clergyman 
of  the  Established  Church.  In  a  word,  he  is  reciting  John 
Murray. 

To  understand  the  drift  of  the  present  meeting,  we  ought 
to  mention  that,  in  the  course  of  a  conversation  started  that 
day  at  the  table  d'hote^  it  was  suggested  that  such  of  the 
company  as  felt  disposed  might  make  an  excursion  to 
Marlia  to  visit  a  celebrated  villa  there,  whose  gardens  alone 
were  amongst  the  great  sights  of  Northern  Ital}'.  All  had 
heard  of  this  charming  residence ;  views  of  it  had  been  seen 
in  every  print-shop.  It  had  its  historical  associations  from 
a  very  early  period.  There  were  chambers  where  murders 
had  been  committed,  conspiracies  held,  confederates  poi- 
soned. King  and  Kaiser  had  passed  the  night  there;  all  of 
which  were  duly  and  faithfully  chronicled  in  "John,"  and 
impressively  recited  by  Mr.  Gorman  O'Shea  in  the  richest 
accents  of  his  native  Doric.  "There  you  have  it  now," 
said  he,  as  he  closed  the  volume;  "and  I  will  say,  it  has  n't 
its  equal  anywhere  for  galleries,  terraces,  carved  architraves, 
stuccoed  ceilings,  and  frescos,  and  all  the  other  balderdash 
peculiar  to  these  places." 

"Oh,  Mr.  O'Shea,  what  profanation!"  interposed  Mrs. 
Morris;  "walls  immortalized  by  Giotto  and  Cimabue!  " 

"Have  n't  they  got  stunning  names  of  their  own?  "  broke 
in  Quackinboss.  "That 's  one  of  the  smartest  dodges  to 
secure  fame.  You  must  be  something  out  of  the  common. 
There  was  a  fellow  up  at  Syracuse  townland,  Measles, 
North  Carolaina,  and  his  name  was  Flay  Harris;  they 
called  him  Flea  —  " 

"That  ceiling  of  the  great  hall  was  a  work  of  Guido's, 
you  said  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Morris. 

"A  pupil  of  Guido's,  a  certain  Simone  Affretti,  who 
afterwards  made  the  designs  for  the  Twelve  Apostles  in  the 
window  of  the  chapter- room  at  Sienna,"  read  out  Mr. 
O'Shea. 

"Who  can  vouch  for  one  word  of  all  that,  sir?"  burst  in 


TRAVELLING  ACQUAINTANCE.  19 

Mr.  Morgan,  with  a  choleric  warmth.  "Who  is  to  tell  vie, 
sir,  that  you  did  n't  write  that,  or  Peter  Noakes,  or  John 
Murray  himself,  if  there  be  such  a  man." 

"I  can  vouch  for  the  last,"  said  a  pale,  gentle-looking 
young  fellow,  who  was  arranging  the  flies  in  a  fishing-book 
under  a  tree  at  a  little  distance.  ''If  it  will  relieve  you 
from  any  embarrassments  on  the  score  of  belief,  I  can 
assist  you  so  far." 

If  there  was  a  faint  irony  in  this  speech,  the  mild  look  of 
the  speaker  and  his  softened  accents  made  it  seem  of  the 
very  faintest,  and  so  even  the  bluff  Mr.  Morgan  himself 
appeared  to  acknowledge. 

"As  yon  say  so,  Mr.  Lay  ton,  I  will  consent  to  suppose 
there  is  such  a  man;  not  that  the  fact,  in  the  slightest 
degree,  touches  my  original  proposition." 

"Certainly  not,  Tom,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Morgan,  in  a  thick 
voice,  like  one  drowning. 

"But  if  you  doubt  Guido,  you  may  doubt  Raphael,  Titian, 
Michael  Angelo,"  burst  in  Mrs.  Morris,  with  a  holy  terror 
in  her  voice, 

"Well,  ma'am,  I'm  capable  of  all  that  —  and  worse." 

What  that  "worse"  was  there  is  no  saying,  though  pos- 
sibly Mr.  Mosely  was  trying  to  guess  at  it  in  the  whisper 
he  ventured  to  Mrs.  Morris,  and  which  made  that  lady  smile 
incredulously. 

"I  now,  sir,  rise  to  put  the  original  motion,"  said 
O'Shea,  assuming  that  parliamentary  tone  which  scandal 
pretended  he  displayed  everywhere  but  in  the  House;  "is 
it  the  opinion  of  this  committee  that  we  should  all  go  and 
visit  the  Villa  Caprini?" 

"Are  we  quite  sure  it  is  to  be  seen?"  interposed  Mr. 
Lay  ton;  "it  may  be  occupied,  and  by  persons  who  have  no 
fancy  to  receive  strangers." 

"The  observation  strikes  me  as  singularly  narrow  and 
illiberal,  sir,"  burst  in  Morgan,  with  warmth.  "Are  we  of 
the  nineteenth  century  to  be  told  that  any  man  —  I  don't 
care  how  he  calls  himself  —  has  a  vested  right  in  the  sight  or 
inspection  of  objects  devised  and  designed  and  completed 
centuries  before  he  was  born  ?  " 

"Well  put,  Tom,  — remarkably  well  put,"  smothered  out 
Mrs.  Morgan. 


20  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Will  you  say,  sir,"  assumed  he,  thus  cheered  on  to 
victory,  —  "will  you  say,  sir,  that  if  these  objects  —  fres- 
cos, bas-reliefs,  or  whatever  other  name  you  give  them  — 
have  the  humanizing  influence  you  assume  for  them,  — 
which,  by  the  way,  1  am  quite  ready  to  dispute  at  another 
opportunity  with  you  or  that  other  young  gentleman  yon- 
der, whose  simpering  sneer  would  seem  to  disparage  my 
sentiment  —  " 

"If  you  mean  me,  sir,"  took  up  Mr.  Mosely,  "I  was  n't 
so  much  as  attending  to  one  word  you  said." 

"No,  Tom,  certainly  not,"  burst  in  Mrs.  Morgan,  answer- 
ing with  energy  some  sudden  ejaculated  purpose  of  her 
wrathy  spouse. 

"I  simply  meant  to  say,"  interposed  Lay  ton,  mildly, 
"that  such  a  visit  as  we  propose  might  be  objected  to,  or 
conceded  in  a  way  little  agreeable  to  ourselves." 

"A  well-written  note,  a  gracefully  worded  request,  which 
nobody  could  do  better  than  Mr.  Alfred  Layton  —  "  began 
Mrs.  Morris,  when  a  dissenting  gesture  from  that  gentleman 
stopped  her.  "Or,  perhaps,"  continued  she,  "Mr.  Gorman 
O'Shea  would  so  far  assist  our  project?  " 

' '  My  motion  is  to  appear  at  the  bar  of  the  house,  —  I 
mean  at  the  gate-lodge,  —  sending  in  our  names,  with  a 
polite  inquiry  to  know  if  we  may  see  the  place,"  said  Mr. 
O'Shea. 

"Well,  stranger,  I  stand  upon  your  platform,"  chimed  in 
Quackinboss;  "I  'm  in  no  manner  of  ways  '  posted  '  up  in 
your  Old  World  doings,  but  I  'd  say  that  you  've  fixed  the 
question  all  straight." 

"Show-places  are  show-places;  the  people  who  take  them 
know  it,"  blurted  out  Mr.  Morgan.  "Ay,  and  what 's  more, 
they're  proud  of  it." 

"They  are,  Tom,"  said  his  wife,  authoritatively. 

"If  you  'd  give  me  one  of  them  a  present,  for  the  living 
in  it,  I  'd  not  take  it.  No,  sir,  I  'd  not,"  reiterated  Morgan, 
with  a  fierce  energy.  "What  is  a  man  in  such  a  case,  sir, 
but  a  sort  of  appraiser,  a  kind  of  agent  to  show  off  his  own 
furniture,  telling  you  to  remark  that  cornice,  and  not  to 
forget  that  malachite  chimney-piece?  " 

"Very  civil  of  him,  certainly,"  said  Layton,  in  his  low, 


TRAVELLING  ACQUAINTANCE.  21 

quiet  voice,  which  at  the  same  time  seemed  to  quiver  with 
a  faint  irouy. 

"No,  sir,  uot  civil,  only  boastful;  mere  purse-pride, 
nothing  more." 

"Nothing,  Tom,  — absolutely  nothing." 

"What's  before  the  house  this  evening, — the  debate 
looks  animated?  "  said  a  fine  bright-eyed  boy  of  about  four- 
teen, who  lounged  carelessly  on  Lay  ton's  shoulder  as  he 
came  up. 

"It  was  a  little  scheme  to  visit  the  Villa  Caprini,  mjj- 
Lord,"  said  Mosely,  uot  sorry  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
addressing  himself  to  a  person  of  title. 

"How  jolly,  eh,  Alfred?  What  say  you  to  the  plan?" 
said  the  boy,  merrily. 

Layton  answered  something,  but  in  a  tone  too  low  to  be 
overheard. 

"Oh,  as  to  that,"  replied  the  boy,  quickly,  "if  he  be  an 
Englishman  who  lives  there,  surely  some  of  us  must  know 
him." 

"The  very  remark  I  was  about  to  make,  my  Lord,"  smiled 
in  Mrs.  Morris. 

"Well,  then,  we  agree  to  go  there;  that 's  the  main  thing," 
said  O'Shea.  "Two  carriages,  I  suppose,  will  hold  us; 
and,  as  to  the  time,  shall  we  say  to-morrow?" 

To-morrow  was  unanimously  voted  by  the  company,  who 
now  set  themselves  to  plot  the  details  of  the  expedition, 
amidst  which  not  the  least  knotty  was,  who  were  to  be  the 
fellow-travellers  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morgan,  a  post  of 
danger  assuredly  not  sought  for  with  any  heroic  intrepidity, 
while  an  equally  eager  intrigue  was  on  foot  about  securing 
the  presence  of  the  young  Marquis  of  Agincourt  and  his 
tutor,  Mr.  Layton.  The  ballot,  however,  routed  all  previous 
machinations,  deciding  that  the  young  peer  was  to  travel 
with  the  iMorgans  and  Colonel  Quackinboss,  an  announce- 
ment which  no  deference  to  the  parties  themselves  could 
prevent  being  received  with  a  blank  disappointment,  except 
by  Mr.  Layton,  who  simply  said,  — 

"We  shall  take  care  to  be  in  time,  Mrs.  Morgan."  And 
then,  drawing  his  pupil's  arm  within  his  own,  strolled  neg- 
ligently away. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"  I  FORETOLD  all  this,"  said  Charles  Heathcote,  peevishly, 
as  a  servant  presented  a  number  of  visiting-cards  with  a 
polite  request  from  the  owners  to  be  allowed  to  visit  the 
villa  and  its  gardens.  "I  often  warned  you  of  the  inflic- 
tion of  inhabiting  one  of  these  celebrated  places,  which 
our  inquisitive  countrymen  will  see  and  their  wives  will 
write  about." 

"Who  are  they,  Charley?"  said  May,  gayly.  "Let  us 
see  if  we  may  not  know  some  of  them." 

"Know  them.  Heaven  forbid!  Look  at  the  equipages 
they  have  come  in ;  only  cast  an  eye  at  the  two  leathern 
conveniences  now  before  the  door,  and  say,  is  it  likely  that 
they  contain  any  acquaintances  of  ours?" 

"How  hot  they  look,  broiling  down  there!  But  who  are 
they,  Charley  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Penthony  Morris,  —  never  heard  of  her;  Mr. 
Algernon  Mosely,  —  possibly  the  Bond  Street  man ;  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Thomas  Rice  Morgan,  of  Plwmnwrar,  —  however 
that  be  pronounced ;  Mr.  Layton  and  friend,  —  discreet 
friend,  who  will  not  figure  by  name ;  Mr.  Corman  O'Shea, 
by  all  the  powers !  and,  as  I  live,  our  Yankee  again  !  " 

"  Not  Quackinboss,  surely?"  broke  in  Sir  William,  good- 
humoredly. 

"  Yes.  There  he  is  :  '  U.  S.  A.,  Colonel  Leonidas  Shaver 
Quackinboss ; '  and  there  's  the  man,  too,  with  his  coat  on 
his  arm,  on  that  coach-box." 

"I'll  certainly  vote  for  my  Transatlantic  friend,"  said 
the  Baronet,  "  and  consequently  for  any  party  of  which  he  is 
a  member." 

"  As  for  me  !  "  cried  May,  —  "  I've  quite  a  curiosity  to 
see  him ;  not  to  say  that  it  would  be  downright  churlishness 


VISITORS.  23 

to  refuse  any  of  our  countrymen  the  permission  thus  asked 
for." 

"Be  it  so.  I  only  stipulate  for  not  playing  cicerone  to 
our  amiable  visitors ;  and  the  more  surely  to  escape  such  an 
indignity,  I  'm  off  till  dinner." 

"  Let  Fentou  wait  on  those  gentlemen,"  said  the  Baronet, 
"  and  go  round  with  them  through  the  house  and  the  grounds. 
Order  luncheon  also  to  be  ready."  There  was  a  little,  a 
very  little,  irritation,  perhaps,  in  his  voice,  but  May's  pleas- 
ant smile  quickly  dispelled  the  momentary  chagrin,  and  his 
good-humored  face  was  soon  itself  again. 

If  I  have  not  trespassed  upon  my  reader's  patience  by 
minute  descriptions  of  the  characters  I  have  introduced  to 
him,  it  is  in  the  expectation  that  their  traits  are  such  as, 
lying  lightly  on  the  surface,  require  little  elucidation.  Nor 
do  I  ask  of  him  to  bestow  more  attention  to  their  features 
than  he  would  upon  those  of  travelling  acquaintances  with 
whom  it  is  his  fortune  to  journey  in  company  for  a  brief 
space. 

Strange  enough,  indeed,  is  that  intimacy  of  travelling  ac- 
quaintanceship !  —  familiar  without  friendship,  frank  with- 
out being  cordial.  Curious  pictures  of  life  might  be  made 
from  these  groups  thrown  accidentally  together  in  a  steam- 
boat or  railroad,  at  the  gay  watering-place,  or  the  little 
fishing-village  in  the  bathing-season. 

How  free  is  all  the  intercourse  of  those  who  seem  to  have 
taken  a  vow  with  themselves  never  to  meet  each  other  again  ! 
With  what  humorous  zest  do  they  enjoy  the  oddities  of  this 
one,  or  the  eccentricities  of  that,  making  up  little  knots  and 
cliques,  to  be  changed  or  dissolved  within  the  day,  and 
actually  living  on  the  eventualities  of  the  hour,  for  their 
confidences !  The  contrasts  that  would  repel  in  ordinary 
life,  the  disparities  that  would  discourage,  have  actually  in- 
vited intimacy ;  and  people  agree  to  associate,  even  famil- 
iarly, with  those  whom,  in  the  recognized  order  of  their 
daily  existence,  they  would  have  as  coldly  repelled. 

There  was  little  to  bind  those  together  whom  we  have 
represented  as  seated  under  the  chestnut-trees  at  the  Bagni 
de  Lucca.  They  entertained  their  suspicions  and  distrusts 
and  misgivings  of  each  other  to  a  liberal  extent ;  they  wasted 


24  ONE  OF  THEM. 

no  charities  in  their  estimate  of  each  other ;  and  wherever 
posed  by  a  ditliculty,  they  did  not  lend  to  the  interpretation 
any  undue  amount  of  generosity ;  nay,  they  even  went 
further,  and  argued  from  little  peculiarities  of  dress,  manner, 
and  demeanor,  to  the  whole  antecedents  of  him  they  criti- 
cised, and  took  especial  pains  in  their  moments  of  confidence 

to  declare  that  they  had  only  met  Mr.  for  the  first  time 

at  Ems,  and  never  saw  Mrs.  "  till  they  were  overtaken 

by  the  snow-storm  on  the  Spliigen." 

Such-like  was  the  company  who  now,  headed  by  the  ob- 
sequious butler,  strolled  leisurely  through  the  spacious 
saloons  of  the  Villa  Caprini. 

Who  is  there,  in  this  universal  vagabondage,  has  not 
made  one  of  such  groups?  Where  is  the  man  that  has  not 
strolled,  "  John  Murray "  in  hand,  along  his  Dresden,  his 
Venice,  or  his  Rome ;  staring  at  ceilings,  and  gazing  ruefully 
at  time-discolored  frescos,  —  grieved  to  acknowledge  to  his 
own  heart  how  little  he  could  catch  of  a  connoisseur's  enthu- 
siasm or  an  antiquarian's  fervor,  —  wondering  within  him- 
self wherefoi'e  he  could  not  feel  like  that  other  man  whose 
raptures  he  was  reading,  and  with  sore  misgivings  that  some 
nice  sense  had  been  omitted  in  his  nature?  Wonderfully 
poignant  and  painful  things  are  these  little  appeals  to  an 
inner  consciousness.  How  far  such  sentiments  were  dis- 
tributed amongst  those  who  now  lounged  and  stared  through 
salo7i  and  gallery,  we  must  leave  to  the  reader's  own  appre- 
ciation. They  looked  pleased,  convinced,  and  astonished, 
and,  be  it  confessed,  "bored"  in  turn;  they  were  called 
upon  to  admire  much  they  did  not  care  for,  and  wonder  at 
many  things  which  did  not  astonish  them  ;  they  were  often 
referred  to  histories  which  they  had  forgotten,  if  they  ever 
knew  them,  and  to  names  of  whose  celebrity  they  were 
ignorant ;  and  it  was  with  a  most  honest  sense  of  relief  they 
saw  themselves  reach  the  last  room  of  the  suite,  where  a  few 
cabinet  pictures  and  some  rare  carvings  in  ivory  alone 
claimed  their  attention. 

"  A  '  Virgin  and  Child,'  by  Murillo,"  said  the  guide. 

"The  ninth  'Virgin  and  Child,'  by  all  that's  holy!  "  said 
Mr.  O'Shea.     "  The  ninth  we  have  seen  to-day !  " 

"  The  blue  drapery,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  continued  the 


VISITORS.  25 

inexorable  describer,  "  is  particularly  noticed.  It  is  '  glazed  ' 
in  a  manner  only  known  to  Murillo." 

"I'm  glad  of  it,  and  I  hope  the  secret  died  with  him," 
cried  Mr.  Morgan.  "It  looks  for  all  the  world  like  a 
bathing-dress." 

"  The  child  squints.     Don't  he  squint?  "  exclaimed  Mosely. 

"Oh,  for  shame!"  cried  Mrs.  Morris.  "Mr.  Layton  is 
quite  shocked  with  your  profane  criticism." 

"I  did  not  hear  it,  I  assure  you,"  said  that  gentleman, 
as  he  arose  from  a  long  and  close  contemplation  of  a  "  St. 
John,"  by  Salvator. 

"  'St.  John  preaching  in  the  Wilderness !  '  "  said  Quack- 
inboss;  "  too  tame  for  my  taste.  He  don't  seem  to  roll  up 
his  sleeves  to  the  work,  —  does  he?  " 

"It's  not  stump-oratory,  surely?"  said  Layton,  with  a 
quiet  smile. 

"Ain't  it,  though!  Well,  stranger,  I 'm  in  a  con-sider- 
able  unmixed  error  if  it  is  not !  You  'd  like  to  maintain 
that  because  a  man  does  n't  rise  up  from  a  velvet  cushion 
and  lay  his  hand  upon  a  grand  railing,  all  carved  with 
grotesque  intricacies,  all  his  sentiments  must  needs  be 
commonplace  and  vulgar ;  but  I  'm  here  to  tell  you,  sir,  that 
you  'd  hear  grander  things,  nobler  things,  and  greater  things 
from  a  moss-covered  old  tree-stump  in  a  western  pine- 
forest,  by  the  mouth  of  a  plain,  hardy  son  of  hard  toil,  than 
you  've  often  listened  to  in  what  you  call  your  place  in 
Parliament.     Now,  that 's  a  fact !  " 

There  was  that  amount  of  energy  in  the  way  these  words 
were  uttered  that  seemed  to  say,  if  carried  further,  the 
discussion  might  become  contentious. 

Mr.  Layton  did  not  show  any  disposition  to  accept  the 
gage  of  battle,  but  turned  to  seek  for  his  pupil. 

"You're  looking  for  the  Marquis,  Mr.  Layton,"  asked 
Mrs.  Morris,  "ain't  you?  I  think  you'll  find  him  in  the 
shrubberies,  for  he  said  all  this  only  bored  him,  and  he  'd  go 
and  look  for  a  cool  spot  to  smoke  his  cigar." 

"That's  what  it  all  comes  to,"  said  Morgan,  as  soon  as 
Layton  had  left  the  room;  "that's  the  whole  of  it  I  You 
pay  a  fellow  —  a  '  double  first '  something  or  other  from 
Oxford  or  Cambridge  —  five  hundred  a  year  to  go  abroad 


26  ONE   OF  THEM. 

with   your   son,   and   all   he  teaches   him   is    to    choose    a 
cheroot." 

"  And  smoke  it,  Tom,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Morgan. 
"There  aiu't  no  harm  in  a  weed,  sir,  I  hope?"  said 
Quackinboss.  "The  thinkers  of  this  earth  are  most  of  'em 
smoking  men.  What  do  you  say,  sir,  to  Humboldt,  Niebuhr, 
your  own  Bulwer,  and  all  our  people,  from  John  C.  Colhoun 
to  Daniel  Webster?  When  a  man  puts  a  cigar  between  his 
lips,  he  as  good  as  says,  '  I  'm  a-reflectiug,  —  I  'm  not  in  no 
ways  to  be  broke  in  upon.'  It's  his  own  fault,  sk,  if  he 
does  n't  think,  for  he  has  in  a  manner  shut  the  door  to  keep 
out  intruders." 

"  Filthy  custom  !  "  muttered  Mr.  Morgan,  with  a  garbled 
sentence,  in  which  the  word  "  America"  was  half  audible. 

"What's  this  he's  saying  about  eating, — this  Italian 
fellow?"  said  Mr.  Mosely,  as  a  servant  addressed  him  in  a 
foreign  language. 

"  It  is  a  polite  invitation  to  a  luncheon,"  said  Mrs.  Morris, 
modestly  turning  to  her  fellow-travellers  for  their  decision. 

"Do  any  of  us  know  our  host?"  asked  Mr.  O'Shea. 
"  He  is  a  Sir  William  Heathcote." 

' '  There  was  a  director  of  the  Central  Trunk  line  of  that 
name,  who  failed  for  half  a  million  sterling,"  whispered 
Morgan;   "shouldn't  wonder  if  it  were  he." 

"  All  the  more  certain  to  give  us  a  jolly  feed,  if  he  be !  " 
chuckled  Mosely.  "  I  vote  we  accept." 
"That  of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Morris. 
"Well,  I  know  him,  I  reckon,"  drawled  out  Quackinboss; 
"  and  I  rayther  suspect  you  owe  this  here  politeness  to 
my  company.  Yes,  sir !  "  said  he,  half  fiercely,  to  O'Shea, 
upon  whose  face  a  sort  of  incredulous  smile  was  breaking, 
—  "yes,  sir! " 

"Being  our  own  countryman,  sir, — an  Englishman,  —  I 
suspect,"  said  Mr.  Morgan,  with  warmth,  "  that  the  hospi- 
tality has  been  extended  to  us  on  wider  grounds." 

"But  why  should  we  dispute  about  the  matter  at  all?" 
mildly  remarked  Mrs.  Morris.  "  Let  us  say  yes,  and  be 
grateful." 

"  There's  good  sense  in  that,"  chimed  in  Mosely,  "  and  I 
second  it." 


VISITORS.  27 

"  Carried  with  unanimity,"  said  O'Shea,  as,  turning  to  the 
servant,  he  muttered  something  in  broken  French. 

"Well,  I'm  sure,  I  never!"  mumbled  Quackinboss  to 
himself ;  but  what  he  meant,  or  to  what  new  circumstance 
in  his  life's  experience  he  alluded,  there  is  unhappily  no 
explanation  in  this  history ;  but  he  followed  the  rest  with 
a  drooping  head  and  an  air  of  half-melancholy  resignation 
that  was  not  by  any  means  unusual  with  him. 


CHAPTER  V. 

ACCIDENTS    AND    THEIR    CONSEQUENCES. 

When  the  young  Marquis  had  made  his  escape  from  sight- 
seeing, and  all  its  attendant  inflictions,  he  was  maiuly  bent 
on  what  he  would  himself  have  called  being  "  very  jolly,"  — 
that  is  to  say,  going  his  own  way  unmolested,  strolling  the 
road  he  fancied,  and  following  out  his  own  thoughts.  Not 
that  these  same  thoughts  absolutely  needed  for  their  exercise 
or  development  any  extraordinary  advantages  of  solitude  and 
retirement.  He  was  no  deep-minded  sage,  revolving  worlds 
to  come,  —  no  poet,  in  search  of  the  inspiring  influence  of 
nature,  —  no  subtle  politician,  balancing  the  good  and  evil  of 
some  nice  legislation.  He  was  simply  one  of  those  many 
thousand  England  yearly  turns  out  from  her  public  schools 
of  fine,  dashing,  free-hearted,  careless  boj's,  whose  most 
marked  feature  in  character  is  a  wholesome  horror  of  all 
that  is  mean  or  shabby.  Less  than  a  year  before,  he  had 
been  a  midshipman  in  her  Majesty's  gun-boat  "  Mosquito;  " 
the  death  of  an  elder  brother  had  made  liim  a  Marquis, 
with  the  future  prospect  of  several  thousands  a  year. 

He  had  scarcely  seen  or  known  his  brother,  so  he  grieved 
very  little  for  his  loss,  but  he  sorrowed  sincerely  over  the 
change  of  fortune  that  called  him  from  his  sea  life  and 
companions  to  an  "on-shore"  existence,  and  instead  of 
the  gun-room  and  its  gay  guests,  gave  him  the  proprieties 
of  station  and  the  requirements  of  high  rank.  One  of  his 
guardians  thought  he  ought  to  go  into  the  Guards ;  another 
advised  a  university ;  both  agreed  upon  a  tutor,  and  Mr. 
Layton  was  found,  a  young  man  of  small  fortune,  whose 
health,  injured  by  over-reading  for  honors,  required  change 
of  scene  and  rest.  They  had  been  companions  for  a  very 
short  time,   but  had,  as  the  young  Lord  would  have  said, 


ACCIDENTS  AND   THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.  29 

"hit  it  oflf"  admirably  together;  that  is  to  say,  partly 
from  a  just  appreciation  of  his  pupil,  and  partly  out  of  a 
natural  indolence  of  disposition,  Layton  interfered  very 
little  with  him,  gave  him  no  troublesome  tasks,  imposed  no 
actual  studies,  but  contented  himself  with  a  careful  watch 
over  the  boy's  disposition,  a  gentle,  scarce  perceptible  cor- 
rection of  his  faults,  and  an  honest  zeal  to  develop  any 
generous  trait  in  his  nature,  little  mindful  of  the  disap- 
pointments his  trustfulness  must  incur.  Layton's  theory 
was  that  we  all  become  wise  too  early  in  life,  and  that  the 
world's  lessons  should  not  be  too  soon  implanted  in  a 
fresh  unsuspecting  nature.  His  system  was  not  destined  to 
be  sorely  tested  in  the  present  case.  Harry  Montserrat, 
Marquis  of  Agincourt,  was  a  fortunate  subject  to  illustrate 
it  by.  There  never  was  a  less  suspectful  nature ;  he  was 
frank,  generous,  and  brave ;  his  faults  were  those  of  a  hot, 
fiery  temper,  and  a  disposition  to  resent,  too  early  and  too 
far,  what  with  a  little  patience  he  might  have  tolerated  or 
even  forgiven. 

The  fault,  however,  which  Layton  was  more  particularly 
guardful  against,  was  a  certain  over-consciousness  of  his 
station  and  its  power,  which  gradually  began  to  show 
itself. 

In  his  first  experience  of  altered  fortune  he  did  nothing 
but  regret  the  past.  It  was  no  compensation  to  him  for 
his  careless  sea-life,  with  all  its  pleasant  associations,  to 
become  of  a  sudden  invested  with  station,  and  treated  with 
what  he  deemed  over-deference.  His  reefer's  jacket  was 
pleasanter  "wear"  than  his  padded  frock-coat;  the  nimble 
boy  who  waited  on  him  in  the  gun-room  he  thought  a  far 
smarter  attendant  than  his  obsequious  valet ;  and,  with  all 
his  midshipman's  love  of  money-spending  and  squander- 
ing, the  charm  of  extravagance  was  gone  when  there  were 
no  messmates  to  partake  of  it ;  nor  did  his  well-groomed 
nag  and  his  well-dressed  tiger  suggest  one-half  the  enjoy- 
ment he  had  often  felt  in  a  pony  ride  over  the  cliffs  of 
Malta,  with  some  others  of  his  mess,  where  falls  were  rife 
and  tumbles  frequent.  These,  I  say,  were  first  thoughts, 
but  gradually  others  took  their  places.  The  enervation  of 
a  life  of   ease  began  soon  to  show  itself,  and  he  felt  the 


30  ONE   OF  THEM. 

power  of  a  certain  station.  In  the  allowance  his  guardian 
made  him,  he  had  a  far  greater  sum  at  his  disposal  than  he 
ever  possessed  before ;  and  in  the  title  of  his  rank  he  soon 
discovered  a  magic  that  made  the  world  beneath  him  very 
deferential  and  very  obliging. 

"  That  boy  has  been  very  ill  brought  up,  Mr.  Layton ;  it 
will  be  your  chief  care  to  instil  into  him  proper  notions  of  the 
place  he  is  to  occupy  one  of  these  days,"  said  an  old  Earl, 
one  of  his  guardians,  and  who  was  most  eager  that  every 
trace  of  his  sea  life  should  be  eradicated. 

"Don't  let  him  get  spoiled,  Layton,  because  he's  a 
Lord,"  said  the  other  guardian,  who  was  an  old  Admiral. 
"There's  good  stuff  in  the  latJ,  and  it  would  be  a  thousand 
pities  it  should  be  corrupted." 

Layton  did  his  best  to  obey  each ;  but  the  task  had  its 
difficulties.  As  to  the  boy  himself,  the  past  and  the  present, 
the  good  and  the  evil,  the  frank  young  middy  and  the  rich 
lordling,  warred  and  contended  in  his  nature ;  nor  was  it 
very  certain  at  any  moment  which  would  ultimately  gain  the 
mastery.  Such,  without  dwelling  more  minutely,  was  he 
who  now  strolled  along  through  shrubbery  and  parterre,  half 
listless  as  to  the  way,  but  very  happy  withal,  and  very 
light-hearted. 

There  was  something  in  the  scene  that  recalled  England  to 
his  mind.  There  were  more  trees  and  turf  than  usually  are 
found  in  Italian  landscape,  and  there  was,  half  hidden  be- 
tween hazel  and  alder,  a  clear,  bright  river,  that  brawled  and 
fretted  over  rocks,  or  deepened  into  dark  pools,  alternately. 
How  the  circling  eddies  of  a  fast-flowing  stream  do  appeal 
to  young  hearts !  what  music  do  they  hear  in  the  gushing 
waters!  what  a  story  is  there  in  that  silvery  current  as  it 
courses  along  through  waving  meadows,  or  beneath  tall 
mountains,  and  along  some  dark  and  narrow  gorge,  emblem 
of  life  itself  in  its  light  and  shade,  its  peaceful  intervals  and 
its  hours  of  struggle  and  conflict. 

Forcing  his  way  through  the  brushwood  that  guarded  the 
banks,  the  boy  gained  a  little  ledge  of  rock,  against  which 
the  current  swept  with  violence,  and  then  careered  onward 
over  a  shallow,  gravelly  bed  till  lost  in  another  bend  of  the 
stream.     Just  as  Agincourt  reached  the  rock,  he  spied  a  fish- 


ACCIDENTS  AND  THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.  31 

ing-rod  deeply  and  securely  fastened  in  one  of  its  fissures, 
but  whose  taper  point  was  now  bending  like  a  whip,  and 
springing  violently  under  the  struggling  effort  of  a  strong 
fish.  He  was  nothing  of  an  angler.  Of  honest  "  Izaak  " 
and  his  gentle  craft  he  absolutely  knew  nought,  and  of  all 
the  mysteries  of  hackles  and  green  drakes  he  was  utterly 
ignorant ;  but  his  sailor  instinct  could  tell  him  when  a  spar 
was  about  to  break,  and  this  he  now  saw  to  be  the  case. 
The  strain  was  great,  and  every  jerk  now  threatened  to  snap 
either  line  or  rod.  He  looked  hurriedly  around  him  for  the 
fisherman,  whose  interests  were  in  such  grave  peril ;  but 
seeing  no  one  near,  he  endeavored  to  withdraw  the  rod. 
While  he  thus  struggled,  for  it  was  fastened  with  care,  the 
efforts  of  the  fish  to  escape  became  more  and  more  violent, 
and  at  last,  just  as  the  boy  had  succeeded  in  his  task,  a 
strong  spring  from  the  fish  snapped  the  rod  near  the  tip,  and 
at  the  same  instant  snatched  it  from  the  youth's  hand  into 
the  stream.  Without  a  second's  hesitation,  Agincourt  dashed 
into  the  river,  which  rose  nearly  to  his  shoulders,  and,  after 
a  vigorous  pursuit,  reached  the  rod,  but  only  as  the  fish  had 
broken  the  stx'ong  gut  in  two,  and  made  his  escape  up  the 
rapid  current. 

The  boy  was  toilfully  clambering  up  the  bank,  with  the 
broken  rod  in  his  hand,  when  a  somewhat  angry  summons 
in  Italian  met  his  ears.  It  was  time  enough,  he  thought, 
to  look  for  the  speaker  when  he  had  gained  dry  land ;  so  he 
patiently  fought  his  way  upwards,  and  at  last,  out  of  breath 
and  exhausted,  threw  himself  full  length  in  the  deep  grass 
of  the  bank. 

"  I  believe  I  am  indebted  to  you,  sir,  for  my  smashed 
tackle  and  the  loss  of  a  heavy  fish  besides  ?  "  said  Charles 
Heathcote,  as  he  came  up  to  where  the  youth  was  lying,  his 
voice  and  manner  indicating  the  anger  that  moved  him. 

"  I  thought  to  have  saved  the  rod  and  caught  the  fish  too," 
said  the  other,  half  indolently ;  "  but  I  only  got  a  wet  jacket 
for  my  pains." 

"I  rather  suspect,  J'oung  gentleman,  you  are  more  con- 
versant with  a  measuring-yard  than  a  salmon-rod,"  said 
Heathcote,  insolently,  as  he  surveyed  the  damaged  frag- 
ments of  his  tackle. 


32  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir?  "  cried  the  boy,  spring- 
ing with  a  bound  to  his  feet,  and  advancing  boldly  towards 
his  adversary. 

"  Simply  that  it 's  not  exactly  the  sort  of  sport  you  follow 
in  Bond  Street,"  retorted  Heathcote,  whose  head  was  full  of 
"  Mosely  and  Trip,"  and  felt  certain  that  a  scion  of  that 
great  house  was  before  him. 

"  You  must  be  a  rare  snob  not  to  know  a  gentleman  when 
you  see  him,"  said  Agiucourt,  with  an  insolent  defiance  in 
his  look. 

"  Perhaps  I'd  be  a  better  judge  if  I  saw  him  after  a  good 
washing,"  said  Heathcote,  who,  with  one  hasty  glance  at  the 
river,  now  turned  a  fierce  eye  on  the  youth. 

Agincourt's  gun-room  experiences  had  not  taught  him  to 
decline  an  offered  battle,  and  he  threw  off  his  cap  to  show 
that  he  was  ready  and  willing  to  accept  the  challenge,  when 
suddenly  Lay  ton  sprang  between  them,  crying  out,  "  What 's 
the  meaning  of  all  this?" 

"  The  meaning  is,  that  your  young  friend  there  has  taken 
the  liberty,  first,  to  smash  my  fishing-gear,  and  then  to  be 
very  insolent  to  me,  and  that  I  had  very  serious  intentions 
of  sending  him  to  look  for  the  one  and  pay  forfeit  for  the 
other." 

"Yes,  I  broke  his  rod.  and  I'll  pay  for  it,  or,  if  he's  a 
gentleman,  I'll  beg  his  pardon,  or  fight  him,"  said  the  boy, 
in  a  tone  of  ill-repressed  anger. 

"When  there  is  an  evident  mistake  somewhere,"  said 
Layton,  gently,  "it  only  needs  a  moment  of  foi'bearance  to 
set  it  right." 

"  Here  's  how  it  all  happened,"  broke  in  the  boy,  eagerly. 
And  in  a  few  words  he  related  his  chance  arrival  at  the  spot, 
how  he  had  seen  the  rod  in  what  he  deemed  imminent 
danger,  and  how  with  the  best  intentions  he  had  interfered 
to  save  it. 

"  I  beg  you  to  accept  all  my  excuses  for  what  I  have  said 
to  you,"  said  Heathcote,  with  a  frank  and  manly  courtesy. 
"  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  my  ill-temper,  and  hope  you'll  for- 
give it," 

"  To  be  sure  I  will.  But  what  about  the  rod,  — you  can't 
easily  get  such  another  in  these  parts  ?  " 


Accidents  and  their  consequences.         33 

The  boy  looked  eagerly  at  Lay  ton  as  he  spoke.  Lay  ton 
as  quickly  gave  an  admonitory  glance  of  caution,  and  the 
youth's  instinctive  good  breeding  understood  it. 

"  I  think  you  came  over  with  a  party  of  friends  to  see  the 
villa,"  said  Heathcote,  to  relieve  the  awkward  pause  between 
them. 

"  Not  friends,  exactly  ;  people  of  our  hotel." 

Heathcote  smiled  faintly,  and  rejoined,  — 

"  Some  of  our  pleasantest  acquaintances  come  of  chance 
intimacies,  —  don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Oh,  for  the  matter  of  that,  they  're  jolly  enough.  There  's 
a  wonderful  Londoner,  and  a  rare  Yankee,  and  there  's  an 
Irishman  would  make  the  fortune  of  the  Haymarket." 

"  You  must  own,  Harry,  they  are  all  most  kind  and  good- 
natured  to  you,"  said  Layton,  in  a  tone  of  mild  half-rebuke. 

"Well,  ain't  I  just  as  —  what  shall  I  call  it?  —  polite  and 
the  like  to  them?  Ay,  Layton,  frown  away  as  much  as  you 
like,  they  're  a  rum  lot." 

"It  is  young  gentlemen  of  this  age  who  nowadaj's  are 
most  severe  on  the  manners  and  habits  of  those  tliey  chance 
upon  in  a  journey,  not  at  all  aware  that,  as  the  world  is  all 
new  to  them,  their  criticism  may  have  for  its  object  tilings  of 
every-day  frequency." 

The  youth  looked  somewhat  vexed  at  this  reproof,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  I  have  the  same  unlucky  habit  myself,"  said  Heathcote, 
good-humoredl}'.  ' '  I  pronounce  upon  people  with  wonder- 
fully little  knowledge  of  them,  and  no  great  experience  of 
the  world  neither ;  and  —  case  in  point  —  your  American 
acquaintance  is  exactly  one  of  those  I  feel  the  very  strongest 
antipathy  to.  We  have  met  at  least  a  dozen  times  during 
the  winter  and  autumn,  and  the  very  thought  of  finding  him 
in  a  place  would  decide  me  to  leave  it." 

It  was  not  Layton's  business  to  correct  what  he  deemed 
faulty  in  this  sentiment ;  but  in  the  sharp  glance  he  threw 
towards  his  pupil,  he  seemed  to  convey  his  disapproval  of  it. 

"  '  My  Coach,'  Mr.  Layton,  is  dying  to  tell  us  both  we  are 
wrong,  sir,"  said  the  boy;  "he  likes  the  '  kernal.' "  And 
this  he  said  with  a  nasal  twang  whose  imitation  was  not  to 
be  mistaken. 


34  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Though  Heathcote  laughed  at  the  boy's  mimicry,  his  atten- 
tion was  more  taken  by  the  expression  "  my  Coach,"  which 
not  only  revealed  the  relations  of  tutor  and  pupil  between 
them,  but  showed,  by  its  familiarity,  that  the  youth  stood  in 
no  great  awe  of  his  preceptor. 

Perhaps  Layton  had  no  fancy  for  this  liberty  before  a 
stranger ;  perhaps  he  felt  ashamed  of  the  position  itself ; 
perhaps  he  caught  something  in  Heathcote's  quick  glance 
towards  him,  —  whatever  it  was,  he  was  irritated  and  pro- 
voked, and  angrily  bit  his  lip,  without  uttering  a  word. 

"Oh,  here  come  the  sight-seers!  they  are  doing  the 
grounds,  and  the  grottos,  and  the  marble  fountains,"  cried 
the  boy,  as  a  large  group  came  out  from  a  flower-garden 
and  took  their  way  towards  an  orangery.  As  they  issued 
forth,  however,  Mrs.  Morris  stopped  to  caress  a  very  large 
St.  Bernard  dog,  who  lay  chained  at  the  foot  of  an  oak-tree. 
Charles  Heathcote  had  not  time  to  warn  her  of  her  danger, 
when  the  animal  sprang  fiercely  at  her.  Had  she  not  fallen 
suddenl}'  backward,  she  must  have  been  fearfully  mangled ; 
as  it  was,  she  received  a  severe  wound  in  the  wrist,  and, 
overcome  by  pain  and  terror  together,  sank  fainting  on  the 
sward. 

For  some  time  the  confusion  was  extreme.  Some  thought 
that  the  dog  was  at  liberty,  and  fled  away  in  terror  across 
the  park;  others  averred  that  he  was  —  must  be  —  mad,  and 
his  bite  fatal ;  a  few  tried  to  be  useful ;  but  Quackinboss 
hurried  to  the  river,  and,  filling  his  hat  with  water,  sprinkled 
the  cold  face  of  the  sufferer  and  washed  the  wound,  carefully 
binding  it  up  with  his  handkerchief  in  a  quick,  business-like 
way,  that  showed  he  was  not  new  to  such  casualties. 

Layton  meanwhile  took  charge  of  the  little  girl,  whose 
cries  and  screams  were  heartrending. 

"What  a  regular  day  of  misfortunes,  this!"  said  Agin- 
court,  as  he  followed  the  mournful  procession  while  they 
carried  the  still  fainting  figure  back  to  the  house.  "I  fancy 
you  '11  not  let  another  batch  of  sight-seers  into  your  grounds 
in  a  hurry." 

"The  ill-luck  has  all  befallen  our  guests,"  said  Heath- 
cote. "Our  share  of  the  mishap  is  to  be  associated  with 
so  much  calamity." 


ACCIDENTS   AND  THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.  35 

All  that  care  and  kindness  could  provide  waited  on  Mrs. 
Morris,  as  she  was  carried  into  the  villa  and  laid  on  a  bed. 
May  Leslie  took  all  upon  herself,  and  while  the  doctor  was 
sent  for,  used  such  remedies  as  she  had  near.  It  was  at 
once  decided  that  she  should  not  be  removed,  and  after  some 
delay  the  company  departed  without  her;  the  day  that  bad 
dawned  so  pleasantly  thus  closing  in  gloom  and  sadness, 
and  the  party  so  bent  on  amusement  returned  homeward 
depressed  and  dispirited. 

"They're  mean  vicious,  these  Alp  dogs,  and  never  to  be 
trusted,"  said  Quackiuboss. 

"Heroines  will  be  heroines,"  said  Mrs.  Morgan,  gruffly. 

"Or  rather  won't  be  heroines  when  the  occasion  comes 
for  it.  She  fainted  off  like  a  school-girl,"  growled  out 
Morgan. 

"I  should  think  she  did!"  muttered  Mosely,  "when  she 
felt  the  beast's  teeth  in  her." 

"A  regular  day  of  misfortunes!  "  repeated  Agincourt. 

"And  we  lost  the  elegant  fine  luncheon,  too,  into  the  bar- 
gain," said  O'Shea.  "Every  one  seemed  to  think  it 
wouldn't  be  genteel  to  eat  after  the  disaster." 

"It  is  the  fate  of  pleasure  parties,"  said  Layton,  moodily. 
And  so  they  jogged  on  in  silence. 

And  thus  ended  a  day  of  pleasure,  as  many  have  ended 
before  it. 

Assuredly,  they  who  plan  picnics  are  not  animated  by 
the  spirit  of  an  actuary.  There  is  a  marvellous  lack  of 
calculation  in  their  composition,  since,  of  all  species  of 
entertainment,  there  exists  not  one  so  much  at  the  mercy 
of  accident,  so  thoroughly  dependent  for  success  on  every- 
thing going  right.  Like  the  Walcheren  expedition,  the 
"wind  must  not  only  blow  from  the  right  point,  but  with 
a  certain  graduated  amount  of  force."  What  elements  of 
sunshine  and  shade,  what  combinations  of  good  spirits 
and  good  temper  and  good  taste!  what  guidance  and  what 
moderation,  what  genius  of  direction  and  what  "respect 
for  minorities"!  We  will  not  enter  upon  the  material 
sources  of  success,  though,  indeed,  it  should  be  owned  they 
are  generally  better  looked  to,  and  more  cared  for,  than 
the  moral  ingredients  thus  massed  and  commingled. 


36  ONE   OF  THEM. 

It  was  late  when  the  party  reached  the  Bagni,  and,  Wishing 
each  other  a  half-cold  good-night,  separated. 

And  now,  one  last  peep  at  the  villa,  where  we  have  left 
the  sufiferer.  It  was  not  until  evening  that  the  Heathcotes 
had  so  far  recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  moi-ning's  dis- 
aster and  its  consequences  as  to  be  able  to  meet  and  talk 
over  the  events,  and  the  actors  in  them. 

"Well,"  said  Sir  William,  as  they  all  sat  round  the  tea- 
table,  "what  do  you  say  to  my  Yankee  now?  Of  all  that 
company,  was  there  one  that  showed  the  same  readiness  in 
a  difficulty,  a  quick-witted  aptitude  to  do  the  right  thing, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  unobtrusively  and  quietly  that 
when  everything  was  over  it  was  hard  to  say  who  had  done 
it?" 

"/call  him  charming.  I'm  in  ecstasies  with  him,"  said 
May,  whose  exaggerations  of  praise  or  censure  were  usually 
unbounded. 

"I  'm  quite  ready  to  own  he  '  came  out '  strong  in  the  con- 
fusion," said  Charles,  half  unwillingly;  "but  it  was  just  the 
sort  of  incident  that  such  a  man  was  sure  to  figure  well  in." 

"Show  me  the  man  who  is  active  and  ready-minded  in  his 
benevolence,  and  I  '11  show  you  one  who  has  not  to  go  far 
into  his  heart  to  search  for  generous  motives.  I  maintain  it, 
Quackinboss  is  a  fine  fellow!"  There  was  almost  a  touch 
of  anger  in  Sir  William's  voice  as  he  said  these  words,  as 
though  he  would  regard  any  disparagement  of  the  American 
as  an  offence  to  himself. 

"I  think  Charley  is  a  little  jealous,"  said  May,  with  a 
sly  malice;  "he  evidently  wanted  to  carry  the  wounded  lady 
himself,  when  that  great  giant  interposed,  and,  seizing  the 
prize,  walked  away  as  though  he  were  only  carrying  a 
baby." 

"/  fancied  it  was  the  tutor  was  disappointed,"  said 
Charles;  "and  the  way  he  devoted  his  cares  to  the  little  girl, 
when  deprived  of  the  mamma,  convinced  me  he  was  the 
party  chiefly  interested." 

"Which  was  the  tutor?"  asked  May,  hastily.  "You 
don't  mean  the  man  with  all  the  velvet  on  his  coat?" 

"No,  no;  that  was  Mr.  O'Shea,  the  Irish  M.P.,  who,  by 
the  way,  paid  you  the  most  persevering  attention." 


ACCIDENTS   AND   THEIR   CONSEQUENCES.  37 

"A  hateful  creature,  insufferably  pretentious  and  imperti- 
nent!    The  tutor  was,  then,  the  pale  young  man  in  black?" 

"A  nice,  modest  fellow,"  broke  in  Sir  William;  "and 
a  fine  boy  that  young  Marquis  of  Agincourt.     1  'm  glad  you 


asked  him  up  here,  Charles.     He  is  to  come  on  Tuesday, 
is  he  not?  " 

"Yes,  I  said  Tuesday,  because  I  can't  get  my  tackle  to 
rights  before  that;  and  I  promised  to  make  him  a  fly-flsher. 
I  owe  him  the  reparation." 


38  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"You  included  the  tutor,  of  course,  in  your  invitation?" 
asked  bis  father. 

"No.     How  stupid!     I  forgot  him  altogether." 

"Oh!  that  was  too  bad,"  said  May. 

"Indeed,"  cried  Charles,  turning  towards  her  with  a  look 
of  such  malicious  significance  that  she  blushed  deeply,  and 
averted  her  head. 

"Let  us  invite  them  all  up  here  for  Tuesday,  May,"  said 
Sir  William.  "It  would  be  very  unfair  if  they  were  to 
carry  away  only  a  disagreeable  memory  of  this  visit.  Let 
us  try  and  efface  the  first  unhappy  impression." 

"All  right,"  said  Charles,  "and  I  '11  dash  off  a  few  lines 
to  Mr.  Layton,  I  think  his  name  is,  to  say  that  we  expect 
he  will  favor  us  with  his  company  for  a  few  days  here. 
Am  I  not  generosity  itself.  May  ?  "  said  he,  in  a  low  whis- 
per, as  he  passed  behind  her  chair. 

A  blush  still  deeper  than  the  first,  and  a  look  of  offended 
pride,  were  her  only  answer. 

"I  must  go  in  search  of  these  good  people's  cards,  for 
I  forget  some  of  their  names,"  said  Charles;  "though  I  be- 
lieve I  remember  the  important  ones." 

This  last  sally  was  again  directed  towards  May,  but  she, 
apparently,  did  not  hear  it. 

"Who  knows  but  your  patient  upstairs  may  be  well 
enough  to  meet  her  friends.  May?"  said  Sir  William. 

"Perhaps  so.  I  can't  tell,"  answered  she,  vaguely;  for 
she  had  but  heard  him  imperfectly,  and  scarcely  knew  what 
she  was  replying. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    MEMBER    FOR    INCHABOGUE. 

Mr.  O'Shea  la  J'  in  his  bed  at  the  Bagni  di  Lucca.  It  was 
late  iu  the  afternoon,  and  he  had  not  yet  risen,  being  one 
of  those  who  deem,  to  travesty  the  poet,  — 

That  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  shorten  our  days 
Is  to  add  a  few  hours  to  the  night,  my  dear. 

In  other  words,  he  was  ineffably  bored  and  wearied,  sick  of 
the  place,  the  people,  and  himself,  and  only  wearing  over 
the  time  as  one  might  do  the  stated  term  of  an  imprison- 
ment. His  agent  —  Mr.  Mahony,  the  celebrated  Mr.  Miles 
Mahony,  who  was  agent  for  all  the  Irish  gentlemen  of  Mr. 
O' Shea's  politics,  and  who  has  either  estates  very  much 
encumbered,  or  no  estates  at  all  —  had  written  him  that 
letter,  which  might  be  stereotyped  in  every  agent's  office, 
and  sent  off  indiscriminately  by  post,  at  due  intervals,  to 
any  of  the  clients,  for  there  was  the  same  bead-roll  of  mis- 
haps and  calamities  Ireland  has  been  suffering  under  for 
centuries.  Take  any  traveller  or  guide-book  experience  of 
the  land,  and  it  is  a  record  of  rain  that  never  ceased.  The 
Deluge  was  a  passing  April  shower  compared  to  the  national 
climate.  Ask  any  proprietor,  however,  more  especially  if  a 
farmer,  and  he  would  tell  you,  "We're  ruined,  entirely 
ruined,  with  the  drought,"  —  perhaps  he'd  have  called  it 
"druth."  "If  the  rain  does  n't  fall  before  twenty-four 
hours,  there  will  be  no  potatoes,  no  grass,  no  straw,  the 
wheat  won't  fill,  the  cattle  will  be  destroyed,"  and  so  on; 
just  as  if  the  whole  population  was  not  soaked  through  like 
a  wet  sponge,  and  the  earth  a  sludge  of  mud  and  swamp,  to 
which   Holland   seems  a  sand-bank  in    comparison!     Then 


40  ONE   OF  THEM. 

came  the  runaway  tenants,  only  varied  by  those  who 
couldn't  be  induced  to  "run"  on  any  terms.  There  was 
the  usual  "agrarian  outrage,"  with  the  increased  police 
force  quartered  on  the  barony  in  consequence,  and  perhaps 
a  threat  of  a  special  commission,  with  more  expense  be- 
sides. There  was  the  extract  of  the  judge's  charge,  saying 
that  he  never  remembered  so  "heavy  a  calendar,"  the  whole 
winding  up  with  an  urgent  appeal  to  send  over  ten  or  twenty 
pounds  to  repair  the  chapel  or  the  priest's  house,  or  contrib- 
ute to  some  local  object,  "at  your  indifference  to  which 
there  is  very  great  discontent  at  this  moment." 

A  pleasant  postcript  also  mentioned  that  a  dissolution  of 
Parliament  was  daily  expected,  and  that  it  would  be  well 
you'd  "come  home  and  look  after  the  borough,  where  the 
Tories  were  working  night  and  day  to  increase  their 
influence." 

'•  Bad  luck  to  them  for  Tories !  "  muttered  he,  as  he  threw 
the  crumpled  document  from  him.  "I  'd  have  been  well  off 
to-day  if  it  was  n't  for  them.  There  's  no  telling  the  money 
the  contested  elections  cost  me,  while,  to  make  out  that  I 
was  a  patriot,  I  could  n't  take  a  place,  but  had  to  go  on 
voting  and  voting  out  of  the  purity  of  my  motives.  It  was 
an  evil  hour  when  I  took  to  politics  at  all.  Joe!  Joe!" 
cried  he,  aloud,  following  up  the  appeal  with  a  shrill 
whistle. 

"Tear  and  ages,  sure  the  house  isn't  on  fire!"  said  a 
man,  rushing  into  the  room  with  an  air  and  manner  that 
little  indicated  the  respect  due  from  a  servant  to  his  master; 
"not  to  saj^"  added  he,  "that  it's  not  dacent  or  becomin' 
to  whistle  after  me,  as  if  I  was  a  tarrier  or  a  bull-dog." 

"Hold  your  prate,  will  you?  "  said  Mr.  O'Shea. 

"Why  would  I?  'T  is  humiliated  I  am  before  all  in  the 
place." 

"Will  you  hold  your  prate?"  muttered  his  master,  in  a 
deeper  tone,  while,  stretching  forth  his  hand,  he  seemed  in 
search  of  any  missile  to  hurl  at  his  mutinous  follower. 

"If  I  do,  then,  it 's  undher  protest,  mind  that.  I  put  it 
on  record  that  I'm  only  yieldin'  to  the  '  vis  magiory.'  " 

"What  o'clock  is  it?"  yawned  out  O'Shea. 

"It  wants  a  trifle  of  four  o'clock." 


THE   MEMBER   FOE   INCHABOGUE.  41 

"And  the  day,  — what's  it  like?" 

"Blaziu'  hot — hotter  thau  yesterday  — '  hotter  than  New 
Orleens,'  Mr.  Quackinbosh  says." 

"D — 'n  Mr.  Quackinbosh,  and  New  Orleens  too!  "  growled 
out  O'Shea, 

"With  all  my  heart.  He  's  always  laughing  at  what  he 
calls  my  Irish,  as  if  it  wasn't  better  than  Ins  English." 

"Any  strangers  arrived?" 

"Devil  a  one.  Ould  Pagnini  says  he  '11  be  ruined  entirely; 
there  never  was  such  a  set,  he  says,  in  the  house  before,  — 
nothing  called  for  but  the  reg'lar  meals,  and  no  wine  but 
the  drink  of  the  country,  that  is  n't  wine  at  all." 

"He  's  an  insolent  scoundrel!  " 

"He  is  not.  He  is  the  dacentest  man  I  seen  since  I  come 
to  Italy." 

"Will  you  hold  your  prate,  or  do  you  want  me  to  kick 
you  downstairs?  " 

"I  do  not!"  said  he,  with  a  stern  doggeduess  that  was 
almost  comic. 

"Did  you  order  breakfast?" 

"I  did,  when  I  heard  you  screech  out.  '  There  he  is,* 
said  ould  Pan;  '  I  wish  he  'd  be  in  the  same  hurry  to  call 
for  his  bill.'  " 

"Insolent  rascal!     Did  you  blacken  his  eye?  " 

"I  did  not." 

"What  did  you  do,  then?" 

"T  did  nothing." 

"What  did  you  say?  You're  ready  enough  with  a  bad 
tongue  when  it 's  not  called  for,  — what  did  you  say?  " 

"I  said  people  called  for  their  bills  when  they  were  lavin' 
a  house,  and  too  lucky  you  '11  be,  says  I,  if  he  pays  it  when 
he  calls  for  it." 

This  seemed  too  much  for  INIr.  O' Shea's  endurance,  for 
he  sprang  out  of  bed  and  hurled  a  heavy  old  olive-wood 
inkstand  at  his  follower.  Joe,  apparently  habituated  to 
such  projectiles,  speedily  ducked  his  head,  and  the  missile 
struck  the  frame  of  an  old  looking-glass,  and  carried  away 
a  much-ornamented  but  very  frail  chandelier  at  its  side. 

"There's  more  of  it,"  said  Joe.  "Damage  to  furniture 
in  settin'-room,  forty-six   pauls   and  a  half."     With  this 


42  ONE   OF  THEM. 

sage  reflection,  he  pushed  the  fragments  aside  with  his  foot, 
and  then,  turning  to  the  door,  he  took  from  the  hands  of  a 
waiter  the  tray  containing  his  master's  breakfast,  arranging 
it  deliberately  before  him  with  the  most  unbroken  tran- 
quillity of  demeanor. 

"Didn't  you  say  it  was  chocolate  I'd  have  instead  of 
coffee?"  said  O'Shea,  angrily. 

"1  did  not;  they  grumble  enough  about  sending  up 
anything,  and  I  wasn't  goin'  to  provoke  them,"  said  Joe, 
calmly. 

"No  letters,  I  suppose,  but  this?" 

"Sorra  one." 

"What's  going  on  below?"  asked  he,  in  a  more  lively 
tone,  as  though  dismissing  an  unpleasant  theme.  "Any 
one  come,  — anything  doing?  " 

"Nothing;  they're  all  off  to  that  villa  to  spend  the  day, 
and  not  to  be  back  till  late  at  night." 

"Stupid  fun,  after  all;  the  road  is  roasting,  and  the 
place,  when  you  get  there,  not  worth  the  trouble;  but 
they  're  so  proud  of  visiting  a  baronet,  that 's  the  whole 
secret  of  it,  those  vulgar  Morgans  and  that  Yankee  fellow." 

These  mutterings  he  continued  while  he  went  on  dressing, 
and  though  not  intended  to  be  addressed  to  Joe,  he  was  in 
no  wise  disconcerted  when  that  free-and-easy  individual 
replied  to  them. 

" '  Your  master  's  not  coming  with  us,  I  believe, '  said  Mrs. 
Morgan  to  me.  '  I'm  sure,  however,  there  must  have  been 
a  mistake.     It 's  so  strange  that  he  got  no  invitation.' 

"  '  But  he  did,  ma'am,'  says  I;  '  he  got  a  card  like  the 
resti '  " 

"Well  done,  Joe;  a  lie  never  choked  you.  Go  on,"  cried 
O'Shea,  laughing. 

"  '  But  you  see,  ma'am,'  says  I,  '  my  master  never  goes 
anywhere  in  that  kind  of  promiscuous  way.  He  expects  to 
be  called  on  and  trated  with  "differince,"  as  becomes  a 
member  of  Parliament —  ' 

"  '  For  Ireland?  '  says  she. 

"'Yes,  ma'am,'  says  I.  'We  haven't  as  many  goats 
there  as  in  other  parts  I  'm  tould  of,  nor  the  females  don't 
ride  straddle  legs,  with  men's  hats  on  thim.'  " 


THE   MEMBER  FOR  INCHABOGUE.  43 

"You  didu't  say  that?"  burst  iu  O'Shea,  with  a  mock 
severity. 

"I  did,  and  more,  — a  great  deal  more.  What  business 
was  it  of  hers  that  you  were  not  asked  to  the  picnic  ?  What 
had  she  to  say  to  it?  Why  did  she  follow  me  down  the 
street  the  other  morning,  and  stay  watching  all  the  time  I 
was  in  at  the  banker's,  and  though,  when  I  came  out,  I  made 
believe  I  was  stuffin'  the  bank-notes  into  my  pocket,  I  saw 
by  the  impudent  laugh  on  her  face  that  she  knew  I  got 
nothing?  " 

"  By  the  way,  you  never  told  me  what  Twist  and  Trover 
said." 

"I  did." 

"Well,  what  was  it?  Tell  it  again,"  said  O'Shea, 
angrily. 

"Mr.  Trover  said,  '  Of  course,  whatever  your  master 
wants,  just  step  in  there  and  show  it  to  Mr.  Twist;'  and 
Mr.  Twist  said,  'Are  you  here  again,'  says  he,  '  after  the 
warnin'  I  gave  you?  Go  back  and  tell  your  master  'tis 
takin'  up  his  two  last  bills  he  ought  to  be,  instead  of 
passin'  more.' 

" '  Mr.  Trover,  sir, '  says  I,  '  sent  me  in. ' 

"'Well,  Mr.  Twist  sent  you  out  again,'  says  he,  '  and 
there  's  your  answer.' 

"  'Short  and  sweet,'  says  I,  goin'  out,  and  pretending  to 
be  putting  up  the  notes  as  I  went." 

"Did  you  go  down  to  the  other  fellow's,  — Macapes?" 

"I  did;  but  as  he  seen  me  coming  out  of  the  other  place, 
he  only  ballyragged  me,  and  said,  '  We  only  discount  for 
them  as  has  letters  of  credit  on  us.' 

"  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  but  who  knows  that  they  're  not  coming 
in  the  post  now  ?  ' 

"  'We  '11  wait  till  we  see  them,'  says  he. 

"  '  By  my  conscience,'  says  I,  '  I  hope  you  '11  not  eat  your 
breakfast  till  they  come.'  And  so  I  walked  away.  Oh 
dear!  is  n't  it  a  suspicious  world?" 

"It's  a  rascally  world!"  broke  out  O'Shea,  with  bit- 
terness. 

"It  is!"  assented  Joe,  with  a  positive  energy  there  was 
no  gainsaying. 


44  ONE   OF   THEM. 

'•Is  Mr.  Layton  gone  with  the  rest  this  morning?  " 

"  He  is,  and  the  Marquis.  They  're  a-horseback  on  two 
ponies  not  worth  fifty  shilling  apiece." 

"And  that  counter-jumper,  Mosely,  I'll  wager  he  too 
thinks  himself  first  favorite  for  the  heiress." 

"Well,  then,  in  the  name  of  all  that 's  lucky,  why  don't 
you  thry  your  own  chance?"  said  Joe,  coaxingly. 

"  Is  n't  it  because  I  did  try  that  they  have  left  me  out  of 
this  invitation?  Isn't  it  because  they  saw  I  was  like  to  be 
the  winning  horse  that  they  scratched  me  out  of  the  race? 
Is  n't  it  just  because  Gorman  O'Shea  was  the  man  to  cari'y 
off  the  prize  that  they  would  n't  let  me  enter  the  lists?  " 

"There  's  only  two  more  as  rich  as  her  in  all  England," 
chimed  in  Joe,  "and  one  of  them  will  never  marry  any  but 
the  Emperor  of  Roosia." 

"She  has  money  enough!"  muttered  O'Shea. 

"And  neither  father  nor  mother,  brother,  sister,  kith  or 
kin,"  continued  Joe,  in  a  tone  of  exultation  that  seemed  to 
say  he  knew  of  no  such  good  luck  in  life  as  to  stand  alone 
and  friendless  in  the  world. 

"Those  Heathcotes  are  related  to  her." 

"No  more  than  they  are  to  you.  I  have  it  all  from  Miss 
Smithers,  the  maid.  '  We're  as  free  as  air,  Mr.  Rouse,' 
says  she;  '  wherever  we  have  a  "conceit,"  we  can  follow  it.' 
That's  plain  talking,  anyhow." 

"Would  you  marry  Smithers,  Joe?"  said  his  master, 
with  a  roguish  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Maybe,  if  I  knew  for  what;  though,  by  my  conscience, 
she  's  no  beauty!  " 

"I  meant,  of  course,  for  a  good  consideration." 

"Not  on  a  bill,  though,  — money  down,  • — hard  money." 

"And  how  much  of  it?"  asked  O'Shea,  with  a  knowing 
look. 

"The  price  of  that  place  at  Kinsale." 

"The  '  Trout  and  Triangle,'  Joe?"  laughed  out  his  mas- 
ter. "Are  you  still  yearning  after  being  an  innkeeper  in 
your  native  town?  " 

"I  am  just  that,"  replied  Joe,  solemnly.  "  'T  is  what  I  'd 
rather  be  than  Lord  Mayor  of  Dublin!  " 

"Well,  it   is   an    honorable   ambition,   no   doubt   of   it. 


THE   MEMBER  FOR   LNCHABOGUE.  45 

Nothing  can  be  more  reasonable,  besides,  than  a  man's 
desire  to  fill  that  station  in  life  which,  to  his  boyish  ideas, 
seemed  high  and  enviable."  This  speech  Mr.  O'Shea  deliv- 
ered in  a  tone  by  which  he  occasionally  turned  to  rehearse 
oratorical  effects,  and  which,  by  some  strange  sympathy, 
always  appeared  to  please  his  follower.  ''Yes,  Joe,"  con- 
tinued he,  ''as  the  poet  says,  '  The  child  is  father  of  the 
man.'  " 

"You  mane  the  man  is  father  of  the  child,"  broke  in  Joe. 

"I  do  not,  booby;  I  meant  what  I  have  said,  and  what 
Wordsworth  said  before  me." 

"The  more  fool  he,  then.  It 's  nobody's  father  he  'd  be. 
Arrah!  that's  the  way  you  always  spoil  a  fine  sintiment 
with  something  out  of  a  poet.  Poets  and  play-actors  never 
helped  a  man  out  of  a  ditch!  " 

"Will  you  marry  this  Smithers,  if  that  be  her  name?" 
said  O'Shea,  angrily. 

"For  the  place  —  " 

"I  mean  as  much." 

"I  would,  if  1  was  treated  — '  raysouable,' "  said  he, 
pausing  for  a  moment  in  search  of  the  precise  word  he 
wanted. 

Mr.  O'Shea  sighed  heavily;  his  exchequer  contained 
nothing  but  promises;  and  none  knew  better  than  his  fol- 
lower what  such  pledges  were  worth. 

"It  would  be  the  making  of  yuu,  Joe,"  said  he,  after  a 
brief  silence,  "if  I  was  to  marry  this  heiress." 

"Indeed,  it  might  be,"  responded  the  other. 

"It  would  be  the  grand  event  of  ijour  life,  that 's  what  it 
would  be.  What  could  I  not  do  for  you  ?  You  might  be 
land-steward;  you  might  be  uuder-agent,  bailiff,  driver, 
—  eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  closing  his  eyes,  as  if  he  desired  to 
relish  the  vision  undisturbed  by  external  distractions, 

"I  have  always  treated  you  as  a  sort  of  friend,  Joe, — 
you  know  that." 

"I  do,  sir.     I  do,  indeed." 

"And  I  mean  to  prove  myself  your  friend  too.  It  is  not 
the  man  who  has  stuck  faithfully  by  me  that  I  'd  desert. 
Where  's  my  dressing-gown?  " 


46  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"She  was  torn  under  the  arm,  and  I  gave  her  to  be 
mended;  put  this  round  you,"  said  he,  draping  a  much- 
befrogged  pelisse  over  his  master's  shoulders. 

"These  are  not  my  slippers,  you  stupid  ass!  " 

"They  are  the  ould  ones.  Don't  you  remember  shying 
one  of  the  others,  yestei-day,  at  the  organ-boy,  and  it  fell  in 
the  river  and  was  lost?  " 

Mr.  O'Shea's  brow  darkened  as  he  sat  down  to  his  meal. 
"Tell  Pan,"  said  he,  "to  send  me  up  some  broth  and  a  chop 
about  seven.  I  must  keep  the  house  to-day,  and  be  indis- 
posed. And  do  you  go  over  to  Lucca,  and  raise  me  a  few 
Naps  on  my  '  rose-amethyst '  ring.  Three  will  do ;  five 
would  be  better,  though." 

Joe  sighed.  It  was  a  mission  he  had  so  often  been 
charged  with  and  never  came  well  out  of,  since  his  master 
would  invariably  insist  on  hearing  every  step  of  the  negoti- 
ation, and  as  unfailingly  revenged  upon  his  envoy  all  the 
impertinences  to  which  the  treaty  gave  rise. 

"Don't  come  back  with  any  insolent  balderdash  about  the 
stone  being  false,  or  having  a  flaw  in  it.  Holditch  values 
it  at  two  hundred  and  thirty  pounds;  and,  if  it  wasn't  a 
family  ring,  I  'd  have  taken  the  money.  And,  mind  you, 
don't  be  talking  about  whose  it  is,  —  it 's  a  gentleman  wait- 
ing for  his  letters  —  " 

"Sure  I  know,"  burst  in  Joe;  "his  remittances,  that  ought 
to  be  here  every  day." 

".Just  so;  and  that  merely  requires  a  few  Naps  —  " 

"To  pay  his  cigars  —  " 

"There's  no  need  of  more  explanation.  Away  with 
you;  and  tell  Bruno  I  '11  want  a  saddle-horse  to-morrow,  to 
be  here  at  the  door  by  two  o'clock." 

Joe  took  his  departure,  and  Mr.  O'Shea  was  left  to  his 
own  meditations. 

It  may  seem  a  small  cause  for  depression  of  spirits,  but, 
in  truth,  it  was  always  a  day  of  deep  humiliation  to  Mr. 
O'Shea  when  his  necessities  compelled  him  to  separate  him- 
self from  that  cherished  relic,  his  great-grandmother's  ring. 
It  had  been  reserved  in  his  family,  as  a  sort  of  charm,  for 
generations ;  his  grand-uncle  Luke  had  married  on  the 
strength  of  it;   his  own   father  had  flnshod  it  in  the  ej^es  of 


THE   MEMBER   FOR   LNCHABOGUE.  47 

Bath  and  Cheltenham,  for  mau}^  a  winter,  with  great  suc- 
cess ;  and  he  himself  had  so  significantly  pointed  out  incox'- 
rect  items  in  his  hotel  bills,  with  the  forefinger  that  bore  it, 
that  landlords  had  never  pressed  for  payment,  but  gone 
away  heart-full  of  the  man  who  owned  such  splendor. 

It  would  be  a  curious  subject  to  inquire  how  many  men 
have  owed  their  distinction  or  success  in  life  to  some  small 
adjunct,  some  adventitious  appendage  of  this  kind ;  a  horse, 
a  picture,  a  rare  bronze,  a  statue,  a  curious  manuscript,  a 
fragment  of  old  armor,  have  made  their  owners  famous, 
when  they  have  had  the  craft  to  merge  their  identity  in  the 
more  absorbing  interest  of  the  wondrous  treasure.  And 
thus  the  man  that  owns  the  winner  of  the  Derby,  a  great 
cup  carved  by  Cellini,  or  a  chef-d'oeuvre  of  Claude  or  Turner, 
may  repose  upon  the  fame  of  his  possession,  identified  as  he 
is  with  so  much  greatness.  Oh !  ye  possessors  of  show 
places,  handsome  wives,  rare  gardens,  or  costly  gems,  in 
what  borrowed  bravery  do  ye  meet  the  world  !  Not  that  in 
this  happy  category  Mr.  O'Shea  had  his  niche ;  no,  he  was 
only  the  owner  of  a  ring  —  a  rose-amethyst  ring  —  whose 
purity  was  perhaps  not  more  above  suspicion  than  his  own. 
And  yet  it  had  done  him  marvellous  service  on  more  than 
one  occasion.  It  had  astonished  the  bathers  at  St.  Leonard, 
and  dazzled  the  dinner  company  at  Tunbridge  Wells ;  Har- 
rogate had  winked  under  it,  and  Malvern  gazed  at  it  with 
awe ;  and  society,  so  to  say,  was  divided  into  those  who 
knew  the  man  from  the  ring,  and  those  who  knew  the  ring 
from  the  man. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

MRS.    PENTHONY    MORRIS. 

Our  reader  has  been  told  how  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris  stormed 
the  Villa  Caprini,  established  herself,  child,  maid,  and  Skye 
terrier  within  its  walls,  and  became,  ere  many  days  went 
over,  a  sort  of  influence  in  the  place.  It  is  not  in  chemistry 
alone  that  a  single  ingredient,  minute  and  scarce  perceptible, 
can  change  the  property  and  alter  all  the  quality  of  the  mass 
with  which  it  is  mingled.  Human  nature  exhibits  phenomena 
precisely  alike,  and  certain  individuals  possess  the  marvel- 
lous power  of  tingeing  the  world  they  mix  in,  with  their  own 
hue  and  color,  and  flavoring  society  with  sweet  or  bitter,  as 
temper  induces  them.  The  first  and  most  essential  quality 
of  such  persons  is  a  rapid  —  an  actually  instinctive  —  appre- 
ciation of  the  characters  they  meet,  even  passingly,  in  the 
world's  intercourse.  They  have  not  to  spell  out  tempera- 
ments slowly  and  laboriously.  To  them  men's  natures  are 
not  written  in  phonetic  signs  or  dark  symbols,  but  in  letters 
large  and  legible.  They  see,  salute,  speak  with  you,  and 
they  understand  you.  Not,  perhaps,  as  old  friends  know 
you,  with  reference  to  this  or  that  minute  trick  of  mind  or 
temper,  but,  with  a  far  wider  range  of  your  character  than 
even  old  friends  have  taken,  they  know  your  likes  and  dis- 
likes, the  things  you  fear  and  hope,  the  weak  points  you 
would  fortify,  and  sometimes  the  strong  ones  you  would 
mask,  —  in  a  word,  for  all  the  purposes  of  intercourse,  thej' 
are  able  to  estimate  your  strength  and  weakness,  and  all  this 
ere,  perhaps,  you  have  noted  the  accents  of  their  voice  or  the 
color  of  their  eyes. 

The  lady  of  whom  it  is  now  our  business  to  speak  was  one 
of  this  gifted  class.  Whence  she  came,  and  how  she  became 
such,  we  are  not  about  to  enter  upon.     She  had  had  her 


MRS.   PENTHONY   MORRIS.  49 

share  of  trials,  and  yet  was  both  young  and  good-looking; 
her  good  looks  in  no  wise  evidencing  the  vestiges  of  any 
sorrow.  Whether  a  widowed  or  deserted  wife,  she  bore  be- 
reavement admirably ;  indeed,  so  far  as  one  could  see,  she 
professed  a  very  rare  ethical  philosophy.  Her  theory  was, 
the  world  was  a  very  nice  world,  the  people  in  it  very  nice 
people ;  life  itself  a  very  nice  thing ;  and  that  people,  gen- 
erally speaking,  only  needed  their  own  consent  to  be  very 
happy  and  contented.  She  had,  it  is  true,  some  very  able 
adjuncts  to  carry  out  her  system.  There  was  scarcely  an 
acquirement  that  she  did  not  possess  reasonably  well ;  she 
spoke  several  languages,  sang,  rode,  drew,  played  billiards 
most  gracefully,  and  could  manufacture  the  most  charming 
cigarettes  that  ever  were  smoked.  Some  of  these  are  envied 
qualities,  and  suggest  envy ;  but  against  this  she  was  care- 
ful to  guard,  and  this  by  a  very  simple  method  indeed.  In 
whatever  she  did,  tried,  or  attempted,  she  always  asked  your 
advice.  She  had  carefully  studied  the  effect  of  the  imputed 
superiority  of  those  who  counsel  their  neighbors,  and  she 
saw  in  its  working  one  of  the  most  tangible  of  all  human 
weaknesses.  The  tendency  to  guide  and  direct  others  is  a 
very  popular  one.  Generous  people  practise  it  out  of  their 
generosity ;  gentle  natures  indulge  in  the  practice  in  very 
sympathy.  To  stern  moralists  it  is  an  occasion  for  the  hard 
lessons  they  love  to  inculcate.  The  young  are  pleased  with 
its  importance ;  the  old  are  gratified  to  exercise  their  just 
prerogative.  "  Tell  me  how  do  you  do  this;  "  or,  "Teach 
me  how  to  correct  that ;  "  "  What  would  you  advise  in  my 
place  ?  "  or,  ' '  What  reply  would  you  give  to  that  ?  "  are 
appeals  that  involve  a  very  subtle  flattery.  Every  man, 
and  more  decisively  too,  every  woman,  likes  to  be  deemed 
shrewd  and  worldly-wise.  Now,  Mrs.  Morris  had  reflected 
deeply  over  this  trait,  and  saw  to  what  good  account  care 
and  watchfulness  might  turn  it.  He  who  seeks  to  be  guided 
by  another  makes  his  appeal  in  a  guise  of  humility,  besides, 
which  is  always  a  flattery,  and  when  tliis  is  done  artfully, 
with  every  aid  from  good  looks  and  a  graceful  manner,  suc- 
cess is  rarely  wanting ;  and  lastly,  it  is  the  only  form  of 
selfishness  the  world  neither  resents  nor  repudiates. 

He  who  comes  to  you  with  a  perfectly  finished  tale  of  his 
4 


50  ONE   OF  THEM. 

misfortunes,  with  "  Finis  "  written  on  the  last  volume  of  his 
woes,  is  simply  a  bore  ;  whereas  he  who  approaches  you  while 
the  catastrophe  yet  hangs  impending,  has  always  an  interest 
attached  to  him.  He  may  marry  the  heiress  yet,  he  may  be 
arrested  on  that  charge  of  forgery,  obtain  that  Cross  of  the 
Bath,  or  be  shot  in  that  duel ;  you  are  at  least  talking  to  a 
man  Fortune  has  not  done  with,  and  this  much  is  something. 

Mrs.  Morris  had  been  little  more  than  a  fortnight  domesti- 
cated at  the  Villa  Caprini,  where  her  weakness  still  detained 
her,  and  yet  she  had  contrived  to  consult  Sir  William  about 
her  fortune,  invested,  almost  entirely,  in  "Peruvians,"  which 
her  agent,  Mr.  Halker,  had  told  her  were  "  excellent;  "  but 
whether  the  people  of  that  name,  or  the  country,  or  the 
celebrated  Bark,  was  the  subject  of  the  investment,  she  really 
professed  not  to  know. 

To  May  Leslie  she  had  confided  the  great  secret  of  her 
heart,  —  an  unpublished  novel ;  a  story  mainly  comprised 
of  the  sad  events  of  her  own  life,  and  the  propriety  of 
giving  which  to  the  world  was  the  disputed  question  of  her 
existence. 

As  to  Charles,  she  had  consulted  him  how  best  to  disem- 
barrass herself  of  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Mosely,  who  was 
really  become  a  persecutor.  She  owned  that  in  asking  his 
counsel  she  could  not  impart  to  him  all  the  circumstances 
which  he  had  a  right  to  be  possessed  of,  —  she  appealed  to 
bis  delicacy  not  to  question  her.  So  that  whether  wife  or 
widow,  he  knew  not  what  she  might  be,  and,  in  fact,  she  even 
made  of  the  obscurity  another  subject  of  his  interest,  and  so 
involved  him  in  her  story  that  he  could  think  of  nothing  else. 
She  managed  each  of  these  confidences  with  such  consum- 
mate skin  that  each  believed  himself  her  one  sole  trusted 
friend,  depositary  of  her  cares,  refuge  of  her  sorrows ;  and 
while  thus  insinuating  herself  into  a  share  of  their  sympathy, 
she  displayed,  as  though  by  mere  accident,  many  of  her 
attractions,  and  gave  herself  an  opportunity  of  showing  how 
interesting  she  was  in  her  sorrow  and  how  fascinating  in 
her  joy ! 

The  Heathcotes  —  father,  son,  and  niece  — were  possessed 
of  a  very  ample  share  of  the  goods  of  fortune.  They  had 
health,  wealth,  freedom  to  live  where  and  how  they  liked. 


MRS.   PENTHONY   MOKKIS.  51 

They  were  well  disposed  towards  each  other  and  towards  the 
world ;  inclined  to  enjoy  life,  and  suited  to  its  enjoyment. 
But  somehow,  pretty  much  like  some  mass  oi  complicated 
machinery,  which  by  default  of  some  small  piece  of  mech- 
anism —  a  spring,  a  screw,  or  a  pinion  the  more  —  stands 
idle  and  inert,  —  all  its  force  useless,  all  its  power  unused, 
they  had  no  pursuit,  —  did  nothing.  Mrs.  Morris  was  ex- 
actly the  motive  power  wanting ;  and  by  her  agency  interests 
sprang  up,  occupations  were  created,  pleasures  invented. 
Without  bustle,  without  even  excitement,  the  dull  routine  of 
the  day  grew  animate ;  the  hours  sped  glibly  along.  Little 
Clara,  too,  was  no  small  aid  to  this  change.  In  the  quiet 
monotony  of  a  grave  household  a  child's  influence  is  magical. 
As  the  sight  of  a  butterfly  out  at  sea  brings  up  thoughts 
of  shady  alleys  and  woodbine-covered  windows,  of  "  the 
grass  and  the  flowers  among  the  grass,"  so  will  a  child's 
light  step  and  merry  voice  throw  a  whole  flood  of  sunny 
associations  over  the  sad-colored  quietude  of  some  old  house. 
Clara  was  every  one's  companion  and  everywhere,  —  with 
Charles  as  he  fished,  with  May  Leslie  in  the  flower-garden, 
with  old  Sir  William  in  the  orangery,  or  looking  over  pic- 
tures beside  him  in  the  long-galleried  library. 

Mrs.  Morris  herself  was  yet  too  great  an  invalid  for  an 
active  life.  Her  chair  would  be  wheeled  out  into  the  lawn, 
under  the  shade  of  an  immense  weeping-ash,  and  there, 
during  the  day,  as  to  some  "general  staff,"  came  all  the 
"reports  "of  what  was  doing  each  morning.  Newspapers 
and  books  would  be  littered  about  her,  and  even  letters 
brought  her  to  read,  from  dear  friends,  with  whose  names 
conversation  had  made  her  familiar.  A  portion  of  time 
was,  however,  reserved  for  Clara's  lessons,  which  no  plan  or 
project  was  ever  suffered  to  invade. 

It  may  seem  a  somewhat  dreary  invitation  if  we  ask  our 
readers  to  assist  at  one  of  these  mornings.  Pinnock  and 
]\Irs.  Rarbauld  and  Mangnall  are,  perhaps,  not  the  company 
to  their  taste,  nor  will  they  care  to  cast  up  multiplications, 
or  stumble  through  the  blotted  French  exercise.  Well,  we 
can  only  pledge  ourselves  not  to  exaggerate  the  infliction  of 
these  evils.  And  now  to  our  task.  It  is  about  eleven 
o'clock  of  a  fine  summer's  day,  in  Italy;  Mrs.  Morris  sits 


52  ONE   OF   THEM. 

at  her  embroidery-frame,  under  the  long-branched  willow; 
Clara,  at  a  table  near,  is  drawing,  her  long  silky  curls 
falling  over  the  paper,  and  even  interfering  with  her  work, 
as  is  shown  by  an  impatient  toss  of  her  head,  or  even  a 
hastier  gesture,  as  with  her  hands  she  flings  them  back 
upon  her  neck. 

"It  was  to  Charley  I  said  it,  mamma,"  said  she,  without 
lifting  her  head,  and  went  on  with  her  work. 

"Have  I  not  told  you,  already,  to  call  him  Mr.  Charles 
Heathcote,  or  Mr.  Heathcote,  Clara  ?  " 

"But  he  says  he  won't  have  it." 

"What  an  expression,  —  '  won't  have  it ' !  " 

"Well,  I  know,"  cried  she,  with  impatience;  and  then 
laughingly  said,  "  I've  forgot,  in  a  hurry,  old  dear  Lind- 
ley  Murray." 

"I  beg  of  you  to  give  up  that  vile  trash  of  doggerel 
rhyme.     And  now  what  was  it  you  said  to  Mr.  Heathcote?  " 

"I  told  him  that  I  was  an  only  child,  —  '  a  violet  on  a 
grassy  bank,  in  sweetness  all  alone,'  as  the  little  book 
says." 

"And  then  he  asked  about  your  papa;  if  you  remembered 
him?" 

"No,  mamma." 

"He  made  some  mention,  some  allusion,  to  papa?" 

"Only  a  little  sly  remark  of  how  fond  he  must  be  of  me, 
or  /of  him." 

"And  what  did  you  answer?  " 

"I  only  wiped  my  eyes,  mamma;  and  then  he  seemed  so 
sorry  to  have  given  me  pain  that  he  spoke  of  something 
else.     Like  Sir  Guyon,  — 

"  '  He  talked  of  roses,  lilies,  and  the  rest. 

The  shady  alley,  and  the  upland  swelling ; 
Wondered  what  notes  birds  warbled  in  their  nest, 
What  tales  the  rippling  river  then  was  telling.'  " 

"And  then  you  left  him,  and  came  away?"  said  her 
mother. 

"Yes,  mamma.  I  said  it  was  my  lesson  time,  and  that 
you  were  so  exact  and  so  punctual  that  I  did  not  dare  to 
be  late." 


MRS.'  PENTHONY  MORRIS.  63 

"Was  it  then  he  asked  if  mamma  had  always  been  your 
governess,  Clara  ?  " 

"No;  it  was  May  that  asked  that  question.  May  Leslie 
has  a  very  pretty  way  of  pumping,  mamma,  though  you  'd 
not  suspect  it.  She  begins  with  the  usual  '  Are  you  very 
fond  of  Italy?'  or  '  Don't  you  prefer  England?'  and  then 
'  "What  part  of  England?  '  " 

Mrs.  Morris  bit  her  lip,  and  colored  slightly;  and  then, 
laying  her  work  on  her  lap,  stared  steadfastly  at  the  girl, 
still  deeply  intent  on  her  drawing, 

"I  like  them  to  begin  that  way,"  continued  Clara.  "It 
costs  no  trouble  to  answer  such  bungling  questions;  and 
whenever  they  push  me  closer,  I  've  an  infallible  method, 
mamma,  — it  never  fails." 

"What 's  that?  "  asked  her  mother,  dryly. 

"I  just  say,  as  innocently  as  possible,  '  I  '11  run  and  ask 
mamma;  I  'm  certain  she  '11  be  delighted  to  tell  you.'  And 
then,  if  you  only  saw  the  shame  and  confusion  they  get  into, 
saying,  '  On  no  account,  Clara  dearest.  I  had  no  object  in 
asking.  It  was  mere  idle  talking,'  and  so  on.  Oh  dear! 
what  humiliation  all  their  curiosity  costs  them !  " 

"You  try  to  be  too  shrewd,  too  cunning,  Miss  Clara," 
said  her  mother,  rebukingly.  "It  is  a  knife  that  often  cuts 
with  the  handle.  Be  satisfied  with  discovering  people's 
intentions,  and  don't  plume  yourself  about  the  cleverness 
of  finding  them  out,  or  else,  Clara,"  —  and  here  she  spoke 
more  slowl}^  — "or  else,  Clara,  the}'  will  find  you  out  too." 

"Oh,  surely  not,  while  I  continue  the  thoughtless,  guile- 
less little  child  mamma  has  made  me,"  said  she.  And  the 
tears  rose  to  her  ej'es,  with  an  expression  of  mingled  anger 
and  sorrow  it  was  sad  to  see  in  one  so  young. 

"Clara!  "  cried  her  mother,  in  a  voice  of  angry  meaning; 
and  then,  suddenly  checking  herself,  she  said,  in  a  lower 
tone,  "let  there  be  none  of  this." 

"Sir  William  asked  me  how  old  I  was,  mamma." 

"And  you  said —  " 

"I  believed  twelve.  Is  it  twelve?  I  ought  to  know, 
mamma,  something  for  certain,  for  I  was  eleven  two  years 
ago,  and  then  I  have  been  ten  since  that;  and  when  I  was 
your  sister,  at  Brighton,  I  was  thirteen." 


54  ONE   OF  THEM. 

*'po  you  dare  —  "  But  ere  she  said  more,  the  child  had 
buried  her  head  between  her  hands,  and,  by  the  convulsive 
motion  of  her  shoulders,  showed  that  she  was  sobbing 
bitterly.  The  mother  continued  her  work,  unmoved  by  this 
emotion.  She  took  occasion,  it  is  true,  when  lifting  up  the 
ball  of  worsted  which  had  fallen,  to  glance  furtively  towards 
the  child;  but,  except  by  this,  bestowed  no  other  notice 
on  her. 

"Well,"  cried  the  little  girl,  with  a  half-wild  laugh,  as 
she  flung  back  her  yellow  hair,  "Anderson  says,  — 

"  '  On  joy  comes  grief,  —  on  mirth  comes  sorrow  ; 
We  laugh  to-day,  that  we  may  cry  to-morrow.' 

And  I  believe  one  is  just  as  pleasant  as  the  other,  —  eh, 
mamma?      You  ought  to  know." 

"This  is  one  of  your  naughty  days,  Clara,  and  I  had 
hoped  we  had  seen  the  last  of  them, "  said  her  mother,  in  a 
grave  but  not  severe  tone. 

"The  naughty  days  are  much  more  like  to  see  the  last  of 
me,"  said  the  child,  half  aloud,  and  with  a  heavy  sigh. 

"Clara,"  said  her  mother,  in  the  same  calm,  quiet  voice, 
"I  have  made  you  my  friend  and  my  confidante  at  an  age 
when  any  other  had  treated  you  with  strict  discipline  and 
reserve.  You  have  been  taught  to  see  life  —  as  my  sad 
experience  revealed  it  to  me,  too  —  too  late." 

"And  for  me,  too  —  too  soon!"  burst  in  the  child, 
passionately. 

"Here  's  poor  Clara  breaking  her  heart  over  her  exercise," 
burst  in  Sir  William,  as  he  came  forward,  and,  stooping 
over  the  child,  kissed  her  twice  on  the  forehead.  "Do  let 
me  have  a  favor  to-day,  and  let  this  be  a  holiday." 

"Oh,  yes,  by  all  means,"  cried  she,  eagerly,  clapping  her 
hands. 

"  The  lizard  can  lie  in  the  sun,  and  bask 

■jNIid  the  odor  of  fragrant  herbs  ; 

Little  knows  he  of  a  wearisome  task, 

Or  the  French  irregular  verbs. 

"  The  cicala,  too,  in  the  long  deep  grass, 
All  day  sings  happily, 


MKS.   PEXTHONY   MORRIS.  66 

And  I  'd  venture  to  swear 
He  has  never  a  care 
For  the  odious  rule  of  three. 

"  And  as  for  the  bee, 
And  his  industry  —  " 

"Oh,  what  a  rhyme!  "  laughed  in  Mrs.  Morris. 

"Oh,  let  her  go  on,"  cried  Sir  William.     "Go  on,  Clara." 

"  And  as  for  the  bee, 
And  his  industry, 

I  distrust  his  toilsome  hours, 
For  he  roves  up  and  down. 
Like  a  '  man  upon  town,' 

With  a  natural  taste  for  fiowers. 

There,  mamma,  no  more,  —  not  another  the  whole  day  long, 
I  promise  you,"  cried  she,  as  she  threw  her  arms  around  her 
neck  and  kissed  her  affectionately. 

"  Oh,  these  doggerel  rhymes 
Are  like  nursery  chimes, 
That  sang  us  to  sleep  long  ago. 

I  declare  I'm  forgetting  already;  so  I'll  go  and  look  for 
Charley,  and  help  him  to  tie  greendrakes,  and  the  rest  of 
them." 

"What  a  strange  child!  "  said  Sir  William,  as  he  looked 
fondly  after  her  as  she  fled  across  the  lawn. 

"  I  have  never  seen  her  so  thoroughly  happy  before,"  said 
Mrs.  Morris,  with  a  faint  sigh.  "This  lovely  place,  these 
delicious  gardens,  these  charming  old  woods,  the  villa 
itself,  so  full  of  objects  of  interest,  have  made  up  a  sort  of 
fairy-tale  existence  for  her  which  is  positive  enchantment. 
It  is,  indeed,  high  time  we  should  tear  ourselves  away  from 
fascinations  which  will  leave  all  life  afterwards  a  very  dull 
affair." 

"Oh,  that  day  is  very  distant,  I  should  hope,"  said  he, 
with  sincere  cordiality;  "indeed,  my  ward  and  myself  were, 
this  very  morning,  plotting  by  what  pretext,  by  what  skilful 
devices,  we  could  induce  you  to  spend  your  autumn  with  us." 

Mrs.  Morris  covered  her  face,  as  if  to  conceal  her  emo- 


56  ONE   OF  THEM. 

tion,  but  a  faint  sob  was  still  audible  from  beneath  her 
handkerchief.  "Oh!"  cried  she,  in  a  faint  and  broken 
voice,  ''  if  you  but  knew  in  what  a  wounded  heart  you  have 
poured  this  balm !  —  if  I  could  tell  —  what  I  cannot  tell  you 
—  at  least,  not  yet —  No,  no.  Sir  William,  we  must  leave 
this.  I  have  already  written  to  my  agent  about  letters  for 
Alexandria  and  Cairo.  You  know,"  she  added,  with  a  sad 
smile,  "the  doctors  have  sentenced  me  to  Egypt  for  the 
winter. " 

"These  fellows  are  mere  alarmists.  Italy  is  the  best 
climate  in  the  world,  or,  rather,  it  has  all  the  climates  in  the 
world ;  besides,  I  have  some  wonderful  counsel  to  give  you 
about  your  bonds.  I  intend  that  Miss  Clara  shall  be  the 
great  heiress  of  her  day.  At  all  events,  you  shall  settle  it 
with  May."  And  so,  with  that  dread  of  a  scene,  a  sort  of 
terror  about  everything  emotional,  —  not  very  unnatural  in 
gentlemen  of  a  certain  time  of  life,  and  with  strong  san- 
guineous temperaments,  —  Sir  William  hurried  away  and 
left  her  to  her  own  reflections. 

Thus  alone,  Mrs.  Morris  took  a  letter  from  her  pocket, 
and  began  to  read  it.  Apparently  the  document  had  been 
perused  by  her  before,  for  she  passed  hastily  over  the  first 
page,  scarcely  skimming  the  lines  with  her  eye.  It  was  as 
if  to  give  increased  opportunity  for  judgment  on  the  con- 
tents that  she  muttered  the  words  as  she  read  them.  They 
ran  thus :  — 

"  A  month  or  six  weeks  back  our  proposal  mifrht  have  been  ac- 
cepted, so  at  least  Collier  thinks  ;  but  he  is  now  in  funds,  has  money 
in  abundance,  and  you  know  what  he  is  at  such  moments.  When 
Collier  went  to  him  at  bis  lodgings  in  King  Street,  he  found  him  in 
high  spirits,  boasting  that  he  occupied  the  old  quarters  of  the  French 
Emperor,  —  that  he  had  even  succeeded  to  his  arm-chair  and  his 
writing-table.  '  A  splendid  augury,  Tom,'  said  he,  laughing.  '  Who 
knows  but  T,  too,  shall  be  "  restored  "  one  of  these  days  ?  '  After 
some  bantering  he  stopped  suddenly,  and  said,  '  By  the  way,  what 
the  devil  brings  you  here?  Isn't  it  something  about  Loo?  They 
say  you  want  to  marry  her  yourself,  Collier,  —  is  that  true  ?  '  Not 
heeding  C.'s  denial,  given  in  all  solemnity,  he  went  on  to  show  that 
you  could  be  no  possible  use  to  Collier,  —  that  he  himself  could 
utilize  your  abilities,  and  give  your  talents  a  fitting  sphere;  whereas 
in  Collier's  set  you  would  be  utterly  lost.     C.  said  it  was  as  good  as 


MRS.  PENTHONY   MORRIS.  57 

a  play  to  hear  his  talk  of  all  the  fine  things  you  might  have  done, 
and  might  yet  do,  in  concert.  '  Then  there  's  Clara,  too,'  cried  he, 
again;  '  she'll  make  the  greatest  hit  of  our  day.  She  can  come  out 
for  a  season  at  the  Haymarket,  and  she  can  marry  whoever  she 
likes.'  Once  in  this  vein,  it  was  very  hard  to  bring  him  back  to 
anything  like  a  bargain.  Indeed,  Collier  says  he  would  n"t  hear  of 
any  but  immense  terms,  —  ridiculed  the  notion  of  your  wanting  to 
be  free,  for  mere  freedom's  sake,  and  jocularly  said,  '  Tell  me  frankly, 
whom  does  she  want  to  marry?  or  who  wants  to  marry  her?  I  'm 
not  an  unreasonable  fellow  if  I  'm  treated  on  "  the  square."  '  Collier 
assured  him  that  you  only  desired  liberty,  that  you  might  take  vour 
own  road  in  life.  '  Then  let  her  take  it,  by  all  means,'  cried  he. 
'I  am  not  molesting  her,  —  never  have  molested  her,  even  when  she 
went  so  far  as  to  call  herself  by  another  name  ;  she  need  n't  cry  out 
before  she's  hurt;'  and  so  on.  C.  at  last  brought  him  to  distinct 
terms,  and  he  said,  'She  shall  cut  the  painter  for  five  thousand; 
she  's  worth  to  me  every  guinea  of  it,  and  I  '11  not  take  less.'  Of 
course,  Collier  said  these  were  impossible  conditions  ;  and  then  they 
talked  away  about  other  matters.  You  know  his  boastful  way,  and 
how  little  reliance  can  be  laid  on  any  statement  he  makes  ;  but  cer- 
tain it  is.  Collier  came  away  fully  impressed  with  the  flourishing 
condition  of  his  present  fortune,  his  intimacy  with  great  people,  and 
his  actual  influence  with  men  in  power.  That  this  is  not  entirely 
fabulous  I  have  just  received  a  most  disagreeable  proof.  When 
Collier  rose  to  go  away,  he  said,  '  By  the  way,  you  occasionally  see 
Xick  Holmes;  well,  just  give  him  a  hint  to  set  his  house  in  order, 
for  they  are  going  to  stop  payment  of  that  Irish  pension  of  his.  It 
appears,  from  some  correspondence  of  Lord  Cornwallis  that  has  just 
turned  up,  Xick's  pension  was  to  be  continued  for  a  stated  term  of 
years,  and  that  he  has  been  in  receipt  of  it  for  the  last  six  years 
without  any  right  whatever.  It  is  very  hard  on  Nick.'  said  he,  '  see- 
ing that  he  sold  himself  to  the  devil,  not  at  least  to  be  his  own 
master  in  this  world.  I  'm  sorry  for  the  old  dog  on  family  grounds, 
for  he  is  at  least  one  of  my  father-in-laws.'  I  quote  his  words  as 
Collier  gave  them,  and  to-day  I  have  received  a  Treasury  order  to 
forward  to  the  Lords  a  copy  of  the  letter  or  warrant  under  which  I 
received  mv  pension.  I  mean  simply  to  refer  them  to  my  evidence 
on  Shehan's  trial,  where  my  testimony  hanged  both  father  and  son. 
If  this  incident  shows  nothing  else,  it  demonstrates  the  amount  of 
information  he  has  of  what  is  doing  or  to  be  done  in  Downing  Street. 
As  to  the  pension,  I 'm  not  much  afraid;  my  revelations  of  1808 
would  be  worse  than  the  cost  of  me  in  the  budget. 

"  If  I  find  that  nothing  can  be  done  with  Ludlow,  I  don't  think  I 
shall  remain  here  longer,  and  the  chances  are  that  I  shall  take  a  run 
as  far  as  Baden,  and  who  says  not  over  the  Alps  after?     Don't  be 


68  ONE   OF  THEM. 

frightened,  dear  Loo,  we  shall  meet  at  the  same  tahle  d'hote,  drink  at 
the  same  public  spring,  bet  on  the  same  card  at  rouge-et-noir,  and  I 
will  never  betray  either  of  us.  Of  your  Heathcotes  1  can  learn  next 
to  nothing.  There  was  a  baronet  of  the  name  who  ruined  himself 
by  searches  after  a  title  —  an  earldom,  J  believe  —  and  railroad 
speculations,  but  he  died,  or  is  supposed  to  have  died,  abroad.  At 
all  events,  your  present  owners  of  the  name  keep  a  good  house,  and 
treat  you  handsomely,  so  that  there  can  be  no  great  mistake  in 
knowing  them.  Sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  —  as  the  old  say- 
ing is ;  and  it  is  a  wise  one  if  we  understood  how  to  apply  it. 

"  I  have  been  twice  with  lladson  and  Reames,  but  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done.  They  say  that  the  town  does  not  care  for  a  wife's  book 
against  her  husbaml ;  they  have  the  whole  story  better  told,  and  on 
oath,  in  the  Divorce  Court.  A  really  slashing  volume  of  a  husband 
against  his  wife  might,  however,  take  ;  he  could  say  a  number  of 
things  would  amuse  the  public,  and  have  a  large  sympathy  with 
him.  These  are  Hadson's  or  Reames's  words,  I  don't  know  which, 
for  they  always  talk  together.  IIow  odd  that  you  should  have 
thought  of  the  l)allet  for  Clara  just  as  I  had  suggested  it !  Of  course, 
till  free  of  Ludlow,  it  is  out  of  the  question.  I  am  sorry  to  seal  and 
send  off  such  a  disagreeable  letter,  dear  Louisa,  but  who  knows  the 
sad  exigencies  of  this  weary  world  better  than  your  affectionate 
father, 

"  N.  Holmes. 

"  I  accidentally  heard  yesterday  that  there  was  actually  a  Mrs. 
Penthony  Morris  travelling  somewhere  in  Switzerland.  Washington 
Irving,  I  believe,  once  chanced  upon  a  living  Ichabod  Crane,  when 
he  had  flattered  himself  that  the  name  was  his  own  invention.  The 
complication  in  the  present  case  might  be  embarrassing.  So  bear  it 
in  mind." 

"Taut  pis  pour  elle,  whoever  the  other  Mrs.  Morris  may 
be,"  said  she,  laughiug,  as  she  folded  up  the  letter,  and 
half  mechanically  regarded  the  seal.  "  You  ought  to  change 
your  crest,  respectable  father  mine,"  muttered  she;  "the 
wags  might  say  that  your  portcullis  was  a  gallows."  And 
then,  with  a  weary  sigh,  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  fell 
a-thinking. 

That  quiet,  tranquil,  even-tempered  category  of  man- 
kind, whose  present  has  few  casualties,  and  whose  future 
is,  so  far  as  human  foresight  can  extend,  assured  to  them, 
can  form  not  the  slightest  conception  of  the  mingled  pleas- 
ure and  pain  that  chequer  the  life  of  "the  adventurer."     The 


MRS.   PEXTHONY  MORRIS.  59 

man  who  consents  to  gamble  existence,  has  all  the  violent 
ecstasies  of  joy  and  grief  that  wait  on  changeful  fortunes. 

"Shall  I  hit  upon  the  right  number  this  time?  "Will  red 
win  once  more  ?  Is  the  run  of  luck  good  or  ill,  or,  it  may 
be,  exhausted  ?  "  These  are  questions  ever  rising  to  his 
mind;  and  what  contrivance,  what  preparation,  what  spirit 
of  exigency  do  they  evoke!  Theirs  is  a  hand-to-hand  con- 
flict with  Fate;  they  can  subsidize  no  legions,  skulk  behind 
no  parapets ;  in  open  field  must  the  war  be  carried  on ;  and 
what  a  cruel  war  it  becomes  when  every  wound  festers  into 
a  crime! 

This  young"  and  pretty  woman,  on  whose  fair  features  not 
a  painful  line  was  traced,  and  whose  beautifully  chiselled 
mouth  smiled  with  a  semblance  of  inward  peace,  was  just 
then  revolving  thoughts  little  flattering  to  humanit}'  gener- 
ally. She  had,  all  young  as  she  was,  arrived  at  the  ungra- 
cious conclusion  that  what  are  called  the  good  are  mere 
dupes,  and  that  every  step  in  life's  ladder  only  lifts  us 
higher  and  higher  out  of  the  realm  of  kindly  sj'uipathies  and 
affections.  Reading  the  great  moralist  in  a  version  of  their 
own,  such  people  deem  all  virtue  "vanity,"  and  the  strug- 
gles and  sacrifices  it  entails,  "vexation  of  spirit."  Let  us 
frankly  own  that  Mrs.  Morris  did  not  lose  herself  in  any 
world  of  abstractions;  she  was  eminently  practical,  and 
would  no  more  have  thrown  away  her  time  in  speculations 
on  humanity  generally  than  would  a  whist-player,  in  the 
crisis  of  the  odd  trick,  have  suffered  his  mind  to  wander 
away  to  the  manufactory  where  the  cards  were  made,  and 
the  lives  and  habits  of  those  who  made  them. 

And  now  she  had  to  think  over  Sir  William,  of  whom  she 
was  half  afraid;  of  Charles,  whom  she  but  half  liked;  and 
of  May,  whom  she  half  envied.  There  were  none  of  them 
very  deep  or  difficult  to  read,  but  she  had  seen  enough  of 
life  to  know  that  many  people,  like  fairy  tales,  are  simple 
in  perusal,  but  contain  some  subtle  maxim,  some  cunning 
truth,  in  their  moral.  Were  these  of  this  order?  She  could 
not  yet  determine;  how,  therefore,  should  we?  And  so  we 
leave  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

PORT-NA-WHAPPLE. 

Although  time  has  not  advanced,  nor  any  change  of  season 
occurred  to  tinge  the  landscape  with  colder  hues,  we  are 
obliged  to  ask  our  reader's  company  to  a  scene  as  unlike 
the  sunny  land  we  have  been  sojourning  in  as  possible. 
It  is  a  little  bay  on  the  extreme  north  coast  of  Ireland, 
closely  landlocked  by  rugged  cliffs,  whose  basalt  formation 
indicates  a  sort  of  half-brotherhood  with  the  famed  Cause- 
way. Seen  from  the  tall  precipices  above,  on  a  summer's 
day,  when  a  vertical  sunlight  would  have  fallen  on  the  strip 
of  yellow  crescent-like  beach  along  which  white-crested 
waves  slowly  came  and  went,  the  spot  was  singularly  beau- 
tiful, and  the  one  long,  low,  white  cottage  which  faced  the 
sea  would  have  seemed  a  most  enviable  abode,  so  peaceful, 
so  calm  it  looked.  Closely  girt  in  on  three  sides  by  rocky 
cliffs,  whose  wild,  fantastic  outlines  presented  every  imagi- 
nable form,  now  rising  in  graceful  pinnacles  and  minarets, 
now  standing  out  in  all  the  stern  majesty  of  some  massive 
fortress  or  donjon  keep,  some  blue  and  purple  heaths  might 
be  seen  clothing  the  little  shelves  of  rock,  and,  wherever  a 
deeper  cleft  occurred,  some  tall,  broad-leaved  ferns;  but, 
except  these,  no  other  vegetation  was  to  be  met  with.  In- 
deed, the  country  for  miles  around  displayed  little  else  than 
the  arid  yellowish  grass  that  springs  from  light  sandy  soil, 
the  scant  pasturage  of  mountain  sheep.  Directly  in  front 
of  the  bay,  and  with  a  distinctness  occasionally  startling, 
might  be  seen  rising  up  from  the  sea  a  mass  of  stately 
cliffs,  which  seemed  like  a  reflection  of  the  Causeway.  This 
was  Staffa,  something  more  than  thirty-odd  miles  off,  but 
which,  in  the  thin  atmosphere  of  a  calm  day,  might  easily 
be  traced  out  from  the  little  cove  of  Port-na-Whapple. 


PORT-NA-WH  APPLE.  61 

Port-na-Whapple  had  once  been  a  noted  spot  amongst 
fishermen ;  the  largest  "  takes  "  of  salmon  —  and  of  the  liuest 
fish  on  the  coast  —  had  been  made  there.  For  three  or  four 
weeks  in  the  early  autumn  the  little  bay  was  the  scene  of  a 
most  vigorous  activity,  the  beach  covered  with  rude  huts 
of  branches  and  boat  canvas,  the  strand  crowded  with 
people,  all  busily  engaged  salting,  drying,  or  packing  the 
fish;  boats  launching,  or  standing  in,  deep-laden  with 
their  speckled  freight;  great  fires  blazing  in  every  sheltered 
nook,  where  the  cares  of  household  were  carried  on  in  com- 
mon, for  the  fishermen  who  frequented  the  place  lived  like 
one  large  family.  They  came  from  the  same  village  in  the 
neighborhood,  and,  from  time  out  of  mind,  had  resorted  to 
this  bay  as  to  a  spot  especially  and  distinctively  their  own. 
They  had  so  identified  themselves  with  the  place  that  they 
were  only  known  as  Port-na-Whapple  men;  a  vigorous, 
stalwart,  sturdy  race  of  fellows  were  they,  too,  that  none 
molested  or  interfered  with  willingly. 

About  forty  years  before  the  time  we  now  speak  of,  a  new 
proprietor  had  succeeded  to  the  vast  estate,  which  had  once 
belonged  to  the  Mark-Kers,  and  he  quickly  discovered  that 
the  most  valuable  part  of  his  inheritance  consisted  in  the 
fishing  royalties  of  the  coast.  To  assert  a  right  to  what 
nobody  ever  believed  was  the  actual  property  of  any  one 
in  particular,  was  not  a  very  easy  process.  Had  the  Port- 
na-Whapple  men  been  told  that  the  air  they  breathed,  or  the 
salt  sea  they  traversed,  were  heritable,  they  could  as  readily 
have  believed  it,  as  that  any  one  should  assert  his  claim  to 
the  strip  of  sandy  beach  where  they  and  their  fathers  before 
them  had  fished  for  ages. 

Sir  Archibald  Beresford,  however,  was  not  a  man  to  relin- 
quish a  claim  he  had  once  preferred;  he  had  right  and 
parchment  on  his  side,  and  he  cared  very  little  for  prescrip- 
tion, or  what  he  called  the  prejudices  of  a  barbarous  peas- 
antry. He  went  vigorously  to  work,  served  the  trespassers 
with  due  notice  to  quit,  and  proceeded  against  the  delin- 
quents at  sessions.  For  years  and  years  the  conflict  lasted, 
with  various  and  changeful  successes.  Now,  the  landlord 
would  seem  triumphant,  he  had  gained  his  decree,  taken 
out  his  execution  against  the  nets,  the  boats,  and  the  tackle. 


62  ONE   OF  THEM. 

but  when  the  hour  of  enforcing  the  law  arrived,  his  bailiffs 
had  been  beaten  ignominiously  from  the  field,  and  the 
fishermen  left  in  full  possession  of  the  territory.  Driven 
to  desperation  by  the  stubborn  resistance,  Sir  Arehy  deter- 
mined on  a  bolder  stand.  He  erected  a  cottage  on  the 
beach,  and  established  himself  there  with  a  strong  garrison 
of  retainers  well  armed,  and  prepared  to  defend  their  rights. 
Port-ua-Whapple  was  at  length  won,  and  although  some 
bloody  affrays  did  occasionally  occur  between  the  rival 
parties,  the  fishermen  were  compelled  to  abandon  the  station 
and  seek  a  livelihood  elsewhere. 

With  a  confidence  inspired  by  some  years  of  security.  Sir 
Archy  diminished  his  garrison,  till  at  length  it  was  his 
habit  to  come  down  to  the  bay  accompanied  by  only  a 
single  servant.  The  old  feud  appeared  to  have  died  out; 
not,  indeed,  that  the  landlord  met  those  signs  of  respect 
from  his  tenantry  which  imply  good  understanding  between 
them ;  no  welcome  met  him  when  he  came,  no  regrets  fol- 
lowed him  when  he  departed,  and  even  few  of  the  country 
people  accorded  the  courtesy  of  touching  their  hat  as  they 
met  him  passingly  on  the  road.  He  was  a  "hard  man," 
however,  and  cared  little  for  such  slights.  At  length  —  it 
was  a  season  when  he  had  exceeded  his  usual  stay  at  the 
coast — there  came  a  period  of  great  distress  amongst  the 
fishermen.  Day  after  day  the  boats  went  out  and  returned 
empty.  It  was  in  vain  that  they  passed  days  and  nights  at 
sea,  venturing  far  out  upon  that  wild  northern  ocean,  —  the 
most  treacherous  in  existence,  —  in  vain  they  explored  the 
bays,  more  perilous  still  than  the  open  sea.  Their  sole 
subsistence  was  derived  from  the  sea,  and  what  was  to  be 
done?  Gaunt  famine  was  stamped  on  many  a  hardy  face, 
and  strong  men  dragged  their  limbs  lazily  and  languidly, 
as  if  in  sickness.  As  Sir  Archy  had  never  succeeded  in 
obtaining  a  tenant  for  the  royalty  of  Port-na-Whapple,  he 
amused  himself  gaffing  the  salmon,  which  he  from  time  to 
time  sent  as  presents  to  his  friends;  and  even  now,  in 
this  season  of  dearth,  many  a  well-filled  hamper  found  its 
way  up  the  steep  cliffs  to  be  despatched  to  some  remote 
corner  of  the  kingdom.  It  was  on  one  of  these  days  that  an 
enormous  fish  —  far  too  big  for  any  basket  —  was  carefully 


P'ORT-NA-WH  APPLE.  63 

encased  in  a  matting,  and  sent  off  by  the  Coleraine  coach, 
labelled,  "The  largest  ever  gaffed  at  Port-na-Whapple." 
Many  an  eye,  half  glazed  with  hunger,  saw  the  fish,  and 
gazed  on  the  superscription  as  it  was  sent  into  the  village, 
and  looks  of  ominous  meaning  were  cast  over  the  deep  cliffs 
towards  the  little  cottage  below.  The  morning  after  this, 
while  Sir  Archibald's  servant  was  at  the  post  for  his  letters, 
a  boat  rowed  into  the  little  cove,  and  some  men,  having 
throAvn  out  the  anchor,  waded  ashore. 


"What  brings  you  here,  fellows?"  cried  Sir  Archy, 
haughtily,  as  he  met  them  on  the  beach. 

"We  are  come  to  gaff  a  bigger  fish  than  yours  o'  yester- 
day," said  the  foremost,  striking  him  on  the  forehead  with 
the  handle  of  the  gaff;  and  he  passed  the  spear  through  his 
heart  wliile  he  yet  reeled  under  the  blow. 

Notwithstanding  the  most  active  exertions  of  the  Govern- 
ment of  the  day  and  the  local  magistrature,  the  authors  of 
the  foul  deed  were  never  discovered,  and  although  there 
could  be  no  doubt  they  were  well  known  to  a  large  popula- 
tion, none  betrayed  them.  More  strange  still,  from  that  day 
and  hour  not  a  fish  was  ever   taken  at  Port-na-Whapple! 


64  ONE   OF  THEM. 

The  property  had  fallen  into  Chancery,  and,  the  interests 
of  the  claimants  not  being  very  closely  guarded,  the  fisher- 
men were  again  at  liberty  to  fish  wherever  they  pleased. 
The  privilege  was  of  no  value;  the  fish  had  deserted  the 
spot,  and  even  when  they  swarmed  at  Carrig-a-rede,  and  all 
along  the  shore,  not  one  ever  was  taken  there!  That  the 
place  was  deemed  "uncannie,"  and  that  none  frequented  it, 
need  not  cause  any  wonder,  and  so  the  little  cottage  fell 
into  ruin,  the  boat-house  was  undermined  by  the  sea  and 
carried  away,  and  even  of  the  little  boat-pier  only  a  few  bare 
piles  now  remained  to  mark  the  place,  when  at  length  there 
arrived,  from  Dublin,  a  doctor  to  take  charge  of  the  Ball  in- 
tray  Dispensary,  and,  not  being  able  to  find  a  habitable 
spot  in  the  village,  he  was  fain  to  put  the  old  cottage  in 
repair,  little  influenced  by  the  superstition  that  attached  to 
the  unholy  place. 

He  was  an  elderly  man,  whose  family  consisted  of  his 
wife  and  a  single  servant,  and  who,  from  the  day  of  his 
first  arrival,  showed  a  decided  repugnance  to  forming 
acquaintance  with  any,  or  holding  other  intercourse  with 
his  neighbors  than  what  the  cares  of  his  profession  required. 
In  person  he  was  tall,  and  even  stately ;  his  features  those 
of  a  man  once  handsome,  but  now  disfigured  by  two  red 
blotches  over  the  eyes,  and  a  tremulousness  of  the  nether 
lip,  indications  of  long  years  of  dissipation,  which  his 
watery  eye  and  shaking  hand  abundantly  confirmed. 
Either,  too,  from  a  consciousness  of  his  infirmity,  or  a 
shame  not  less  deeply  rooted,  he  never  met  the  eyes  of 
those  he  addressed,  but  turned  his  gaze  either  askance  or 
to  the  ground,  giving  him  then  an  expression  very  different 
from  the  look  he  wore  when  alone  and  unobserved.  At  such 
times  the  face  was  handsome  but  haughty,  a  character  of 
almost  defiant  pride  in  the  eye,  while  the  angles  of  the 
mouth  were  slightly  drawn  down,  as  one  sees  in  persons  of 
proud  temperament.  A  few  words  will  suffice  for  so  much 
of  his  history  as  the  reader  need  know.  Herbert  Lay  ton 
had  the  proud  distinction  of  being  a  Fellow  of  Trinit}'^  Col- 
lege, Dublin,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  and,  three  years 
later,  won,  against  many  distinguished  competitors,  the 
chair  of  medicine  in  the  university.     His  whole  academic 


PORT-NA-WHAPPLE.  65 

career  had  been  a  succession  of  triumphs,  and  even  able 
men  made  this  excuse  for  not  obtaining  honors,  that  they 
were  "in  Lay  ton's  division."  His  was  one  of  those  rare 
natures  to  which  acquirements  the  most  diverse  and  oppo- 
site are  easy.  The  most  critical  knowledge  of  the  classics 
was  combined  in  him  with  a  high-soaring  acquaintance  with 
science,  and  while  he  carried  away  the  gold  medal  for  verse 
composition,  the  very  same  week  announced  him  as  prize- 
man for  microscopic  researches.  And  while  he  thus  swept 
the  college  of  honors,  he  was  ever  foremost  in  all  athletic 
games  and  manly  exercises.  Indeed,  the  story  goes  that 
the  gown  in  which  he  won  his  fellowship  had  been  hastily 
thrown  over  the  jacket  of  the  cricketer.  If  the  blemish 
served  to  afflict  those  who  felt  the  truest  friendship  for 
him,  it  rather  contributed  to  exaggerate  the  prestige  of  his 
name  that  he  was  haughty  and  even  overbearing  in  manner ; 
not  meanly  condescending  to  be  vain  of  his  successes  and 
the  high  eminence  he  had  won,  —  far  from  it,  no  man  treated 
such  triumphs  with  such  supercilious  levity,  boldly  declaring 
that  they  were  within  the  reach  of  all,  and  that  it  was  a 
simple  question  of  application  to  any, —  his  proud  demeanor 
had  its  source  in  a  certain  sense  of  self-reliance,  and  a 
haughty  conviction  that  the  occasion  had  not  come  —  might 
never  come  —  to  show  the  world  the  great  "stuff  that  was 
in  him; "  and  thus,  many  a  rumor  ran,  "Layton  is  sorry  for 
having  taken  to  medicine;  it  can  lead  to  nothing:  at  the 
Bar  he  must  have  gained  every  eminence,  entered  Parlia- 
ment, risen  Heaven  knows  to  what  or  where.  Layton  can- 
not conceal  his  dissatisfaction  with  a  career  of  no  high 
rewards."  And  thus  they  sought  for  the  explanation  of  that 
demeanor  which  hurt  the  pride  of  many  and  the  sympathy 
of  all. 

Partly  from  the  aggressive  nature  of  the  passion  of  self- 
esteem,  never  satisfied  if  with  each  day  it  has  not  made 
further  inroad,  partly,  perhaps,  from  the  estrangement  of 
friends,  wearied  out  by  endless  pretensions,  Layton  at  last 
lived  utterly  companionless  and  alone.  His  habits  of  hard 
work  made  this  the  less  remarkable ;  but  stories  were  soon 
abroad  that  he  had  abandoned  himself  to  drink,  and  that 
the  hours  believed   to  be  passed  in  study  were  in  reality 

^     OF    THE 


66  ONE  OF   THEM. 

spent  in  debauch  and  intoxication.  His  appearance  but 
unhappily  gave  some  corroboration  to  the  rumor.  He 
had  grown  careless  in  his  dress,  slouching  in  his  walk ;  his 
pale,  thoughtful  face  was  often  flushed  with  a  glow  exercise 
never  gives;  and  his  clear  bright  eye  no  longer  met 
another's  with  boldness.  He  neglected,  besides,  all  his 
collegiate  duties,  his  pupils  rarely  could  obtain  sight  of 
him,  his  class-room  was  always  deserted,  a  brief  notice 
"that  the  Regius  Professor  was  indisposed,  and  would 
not  lecture,"  remaining  affixed  to  the  door  for  the  entire 


While  this  once  great  reputation  was  thus  crumbling  away, 
there  arose  another,  and,  the  time  considered,  a  far  more 
dangerous  imputation.  It  was  the  terrible  period  of  1807, 
and  men  said  that  Layton  was  deep  in  all  the  designs  of  the 
Emmet  party.  So  completely  was  the  insurrection  limited 
to  men  of  the  very  humbler  walks  in  life,  so  destitute  was 
the  cause  of  all  support  from  persons  of  station  or  influence, 
that  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  picture  the  shock  —  almost 
passing  belief  —  of  the  world  when  this  report  began  to  gain 
currency  and  credit.  Were  the  public  to-morrow  to  learn 
that  some  great  and  trusted  political  leader  was  found  out 
to  be  secretly  in  the  pay  of  France  or  Russia,  it  would  not 
excite  more  incredulous  horror  than  at  that  day  was  caused 
by  imputing  rebellious  projects  to  Herbert  Layton. 

The  honor  of  the  University  was  too  deepl}'  involved  to 
suffer  such  a  charge  to  be  rashly  circulated.  The  board 
summoned  the  Regius  Professor  to  attend  before  them.  He 
returned  his  reply  to  the  summons  on  the  back  of  a  letter 
constituting  him  a  member  of  the  "United  Irishmen,"  the 
great  rebel  association  of  the  day.  As  much  out  of  regard 
to  their  own  fame,  as  in  pity  for  a  rashness  that  might  have 
cost  him  his  life,  they  destroyed  the  document  and  deprived 
him  of  his  fellowship. 

From  the  day  that  he  wandered  forth  a  ruined,  houseless, 
destitute  man,  little  is  known  of  him.  At  long  intervals 
of  time,  men  would  say,  "  Could  that  have  been  poor  Her- 
bert, that  '  Layton,'  taken  up  b}'^  the  police  for  drunkenness, 
or  accused  of  some  petty  crime?  Was  it  he  who  was 
charged  with    sending    threatening   letters   to  this    one,   or 


PORT-NA-WHAPPLE.  67 

making  insolent  demands  on  that?"  Another  would  say, 
"I  could  swear  I  saw  Lay  ton  as  a  witness  in  one  of  those 
pot-house  trials  where  the  course  of  law  proceedings  is 
made  the  matter  of  vulgar  jest."  Another  met  him  hawk- 
ing quack  medicines  in  a  remote  rural  district. 

It  is  not  necessary  we  should  follow  him  through  these 
changes,  each  lower  than  the  last  in  degradation.  We 
arrive  by  a  bound  at  a  period  when  he  kept  a  small  apothe- 
cary's shop  in  a  little  village  of  North  Wales,  and  where, 
with  seeming  reformation  of  character,  he  lived  discreetly, 
and  devoted  himself  assiduously  to  the  education  of  an 
only  son. 

By  dint  of  immense  effort,  and  sacrifices  the  most  painful, 
he  succeeded  in  entering  his  boy  at  Cambridge ;  but  in  his 
last  year,  his  means  failing,  he  had  obtained  a  tutorship 
for  him,  —  no  less  a  charge  than  that  of  the  young  Marquis 
of  Agincourt,  —  an  appointment  to  which  his  college  tutor 
had  recommended  him.  Almost  immediately  after  this,  a 
vacancy  occurring  in  the  little  village  of  Ballintray  for  a 
dispensary  doctor,  Layton  applied  for  the  appointment, 
and  obtained  it.  Few,  indeed,  of  the  electors  had  ever 
heard  of  his  name,  but  all  were  astonished  at  the  ample 
qualifications  tendered  by  one  willing  to  accept  such  hum- 
ble duties.  The  rector  of  the  parish.  Dr.  Millar,  was, 
though  his  junior,  perhaps,  the  only  one  well  conversant  with 
Layton's  story,  for  he  had  been  his  contemporary  at  the 
University. 

On  the  two  or  three  occasions  on  which  they  met,  Dr. 
Millar  never  evinced  by  the  slightest  allusion  any  knowledge 
of  the  other's  antecedents.  He  even,  by  adroit  reference 
to  English  life  and  habits,  in  contradistinction  to  Irish, 
seemed  to  infer  that  his  experiences  were  more  at  home 
there;  and  whatever  might  have  been  Layton's  own  secret 
promptings,  there  was  nothing  in  the  clergyman's  manner 
to  provoke  the  slightest  constraint  or  awkwardness. 

The  reader  is  now  sufficiently  informed  to  accompany  us 
to  the  little  cottage  on  the  beach  of  Port-na-Whapple.  It 
is  a  warm  autumnal  afternoon,  the  air  calm  and  still,  but 
the  great  sea  comes  heaving  in,  wave  swelling  after  wave, 
as  though  moved  by  a  storm.     Strange  contrast  to  that  loud 


68  ONE  OF  THEM. 

thundering  ocean  the  little  peaceful  cottage,  whose  blue 
smoke  rises  in  a  thin,  straight  column  into  the  air.  The 
door  is  open,  and  a  few  ducks,  with  their  young  brood,  are 
waddling  up  and  down  the  blue  stone  step,  as  though  educat- 
ing their  young  in  feats  of  difficulty  and  daring.  On  a 
coarse  wooden  perch  within  the  hall  sits  a  very  old  gray 
parrot,  so  old  that  his  feathers  have  assumed  a  sort  of  half- 
woolly  look,  and  his  bleared  eyes  only  open  at  intervals,  as 
though  he  had  seen  quite  enough  of  this  world  already,  and 
could  afford  to  take  it  easily.  In  the  attitude  of  the  head, 
partially  thrown  forward  and  slightly  on  one  side,  there  is  a 
toock  air  of  thought  and  reflection,  marvellously  aided  by 
a  habit  the  creature  has  of  muttering  to  himself  such  little 
broken  ends  of  speech  as  he  possesses.  Layton  had  bought 
him  a  great  many  years  back,  having  fancied  he  could 
detect  a  resemblance  in  him  to  a  once  famed  vice-provost 
of  Trinity,  after  whom  he  called  him  "Dr.  Barret,"  a 
name  the  bird  felt  proud  of,  as  well  he  might,  and  seemed 
even  now,  in  his  half  dotage,  to  warm  up  on  hearing  it. 
Through  the  open  door  of  a  little  room  adjoining  might  be 
seen  a  very  pale,  sickly  woman,  who  coughed  almost  inces- 
santly as  she  bent  over  an  embroidery-frame.  Though  not 
much  more  than  middle-aged,  her  hair  was  perfectly  white, 
and  deep  discolorations  —  the  track  of  tears  for  many  a  day 
—  marked  her  worn  cheeks. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  in  a  small  room  whose 
furniture  was  an  humble  truckle-bed,  and  a  few  shelves  with 
physic-bottles,  the  doctor  was  engaged  at  his  toilet,  if  by 
so  pretentious  a  term  we  may  record  the  few  preparations 
he  was  making  to  render  his  every-day  appearance  more  pre- 
sentable. As  he  stood  thus  in  trousers  and  shirt,  his  broad 
chest  and  powerful  neck  exposed,  he  seemed  to  testify  even 
yet  to  the  athletic  vigor  of  one  who  was  known  as  the  best 
hurler  and  racket-player  of  his  day.  He  had  been  swim- 
ming a  long  stretch  far  out  to  sea,  and  air  and  exercise 
together  had  effaced  many  of  those  signs  of  dissipation 
which  his  face  usually  wore,  while  in  his  voice  there  was  a 
frank  boldness  that  only  came  back  to  him  at  some  rare 
intervals. 

"I  can  fancy,  Grace,"  cried  he,  loud  enough  to  be  heard 


PORT-NA-WHAPPLE.  69 

across  the  hall,"  that  Millar  is  quite  proud  of  his  condescen- 
sion. The  great  rector  of  the  parish,  man  of  fortune 
besides,  stooping  to  invite  the  dispensary  doctor!  Twelve 
hundred  per  annum  associating  with  eighty!  To  be  sure  he 
says,  '  You  will  only  meet  two  friends  and  neighbors  of 
mine,'  as  though  to  intimate,  '  I  am  doing  this  on  the  sly;  I 
don't  mean  to  make  you  a  guest  on  field-days.'  " 

She  muttered  something,  speedily  interrupted  by  a  cough; 
and  he,  not  caring  to  catch  her  words,  went  on :  — 

"It  is  a  politeness  that  cuts  both  ways,  and  makes  vie  as 
uncomfortable  as  him.  This  waistcoat  has  a  beggarly 
account  of  empty  button-holes;  and  as  for  my  coat,  nothing 
but  a  dim  candle-light  would  screen  its  deficiencies.  I  was 
a  fool  to  accept!  "  cried  he,  impatiently. 

"Don't  go,  Tom!  don't  go!"  screamed  the  parrot, 
addressing  him  by  a  familiar  sobriquet. 

"And  why  not,  doctor?"  said  Lay  ton,  laughing  at  the 
apropos. 

"Don't  go!  don't  go!  "  repeated  the  bird.  * 

"Give  me  your  reasons,  old  boy,  and  not  impossible  is  it 
I  '11  agree  with  you.  What  do  you  say,  Grace?  "  added  he, 
advancing  to  the  door  of  his  room  the  better  to  catch  her 
words. 

"It  is  to  them  the  honor  is  done,  not  to  you,"  said  she, 
faintly,  and  as  though  the  speech  cost  her  heavily. 

"Very  hard  to  persuade  the  rector  of  that,  — very  hard  to 
convince  the  man  of  silver  side-dishes  and  cut  decanters 
that  he  is  not  the  patron  of  him  who  dines  off  delf  and 
drinks  out  of  pewter.  Is  this  cravat  too  i-agged,  Grace?  I 
think  I  'd  better  wear  my  black  one." 

"Yes,  the  black  one,"  said  she,  coughing  painfully. 

"  After  all,  it  is  no  grand  occasion,  —  a  little  party  of 
four." 

"  "What  a  swell !  what  a  swell !  "  shrieked  the  parrot. 

"Ain't  I?  By  Jove,"  laughed  Layton,  "the  doctor  is 
marvellous  in  his  remarks  to-da}'." 

"  There,  I  have  done  my  best  with  such  scanty  '  proper- 
ties,' "  said  he,  as  he  turned  away  from  the  glass.  "  The 
greatest  peril  to  a  shabby  man  is  the  self-imposed  obligation 
to  show  he  is  better  than  he  looks.  It  is  an  almost  invari- 
able blunder." 


70  ONE   OF  THEM. 

She  muttered  something  inaudibly,  and,  as  usual,  he  went 
on  with  his  own  thoughts. 

"One  either  assumes  a  more  dictatorial  tone,  or  takes 
more  than  his  share  of  the  talk,  or  is  more  apt  to  contradict 
the  great  man  of  the  company,  —  at  least  /  do." 

"  Don't  go,  Tom  !  don't !  don't !  "  called  out  Dr.  Barret. 

"  Not  go?  — after  all  these  splendid  preparations!  "  said 
Lay  ton,  with  a  laugh.  "After  yourself  exclaiming,  'What 
a  swell !  '  " 

"  It  '11  never  pay,  —  never  pay,  —  never  pay  !  "  croaked 
out  Poll. 

"That  I'm  sure  of,  doctor.  I  never  knew  one  of  these 
politic  things  that  did ;  but  yet  we  go  on  through  life  prac- 
tising them  in  the  face  of  all  their  failure,  dancing  attendance 
at  levees,  loitering  in  antechambei'S,  all  to  be  remembered  by 
some  great  man  who  is  just  as  likely  to  hate  the  sight  of  us. 
However,  this  shall  be  my  last  transgression." 

The  faint  female  voice  muttered  some  indistinct  words 
about  what  he  "  owed  to  himself,"  and  the  "  rightful  station 
that  belonged  to  him  ;  "  but  he  speedily  cut  the  reflection  short 
as  he  said  :  "  So  long  as  a  man  is  poor  as  I  am,  he  can  only 
hold  his  head  high  by  total  estrangement  from  the  world. 
Let  him  dare  to  mix  with  it,  and  his  threadbare  coat  and 
patched  shoes  will  soon  convince  him  that  they  will  extend 
no  equality  to  him  who  comes  among  them  in  such  beggarly 
fashion.  With  what  authority,  I  ask,  can  he  speak,  whose 
very  poverty  refutes  his  sentiments,  and  the  simple  question 
stands  forth  unanswerable  :  '  If  this  man  knew  so  much,  why 
is  he  as  we  see  him  ?  '  " 

"  This  is,  then,  to  say  that  misfortune  is  never  unmerited. 
Surely  you  do  not  mean  that,  Herbert?"  said  she,  with  an 
eagerness  almost  painful. 

"It  is  exactly  what  I  would  say,  — that  for  all  the  pur- 
poses of  worldly  judgments  upon  men,  there  is  no  easier  rule 
than  to  assume  that  they  who  fail  deserve  failure.  Richelieu 
never  asked  those  who  sought  high  command,  '  Are  you  skil- 
ful in  the  field  ?  are  you  clever  in  strategy  ?  '  but  '  Are  you 
lucky  ? '" 

A  deep  sigh  was  her  only  answer. 

"I  wonder  who  Millar's  fourth  man  is  to  be?     Colonel 


PORT-NA-WH  APPLE.  71 

Karstairs,  I  know,  is  one ;  a  man  of  importance  to  me, 
Grace,"  said  he,  laughing;  "a  two-guinea  subscriber  to  the 
dispensary !  How  I  wish  I  were  in  a  more  fitting  spirit  of 
submissiveness  to  my  betters ;  and,  by  ill  fortune,  this  is  one 
of  my  rebellious  days !  " 

"  Don't  go,  Tom  !     Don't  go,  I  say  !  "  yelled  out  Poll. 

"  Prophet  of  evil,  and  evil  prophet,  hold  your  tongue!  I 
will  go,"  said  he,  sternly,  and  as  if  answering  a  responsible 
adviser ;  and  setting  his  hat  on,  with  a  certain  air  of  dogged 
defiance,  he  left  the  house. 

His  wife  arose,  and  with  feeble  steps  tottered  to  the  door 
of  the  cottage  to  look  after  him.  A  few  steps  brought  him 
to  the  foot  of  the  cliff,  up  the  steep  face  of  which  a  zigzag 
path  led  upwards  for  fully  four  hundred  feet,  a  narrow  track 
trodden  by  the  bare  feet  of  hardy  mountaineers  into  some 
semblance  of  a  pathway,  but  such  as  few  denizens  of  towns 
would  willingly  have  taken.  Layton,  however,  stepped  along 
like  one  whose  foot  was  not  new  to  the  heather ;  nay,  the 
very  nature  of  the  ascent,  the  bracing  air  of  the  sea,  and 
something  in  the  peril  itself  of  the  way,  seemed  to  revive  in 
the  man  his  ancient  vigor;  and  few,  seeing  him  from  the 
beach  below,  as  he  boldly  breasted  the  steep  bluff,  or  sprang 
lightly  over  some  fissured  chasm,  would  have  deemed  him 
one  long  since  past  the  prime  of  life,  —  one  who  had  spent 
more  than  youth,  and  its  ambitions,  in  excess. 

At  first,  the  spirit  to  press  onward  appeared  to  possess 
him  entirely ;  but  ere  he  reached  the  half  ascent,  he  turned  to 
look  down  on  the  yellow  strip  of  strand  and  the  little  cot- 
tage, up  to  whose  very  door-sill  now  the  foam  seemed  curl- 
ing. Never  before  had  its  isolation  seemed  so  complete. 
Not  a  sail  was  to  be  seen  seaward,  not  even  a  gull  broke  the 
stillness  with  his  cry ;  a  low,  mournful  plash,  with  now  and 
then  a  rumbling  half  thunder,  as  the  sea  resounded  within 
some  rocky  cavern,  were  the  only  sounds,  and  Layton  sat 
down  on  a  mossy  ledge,  to  drink  in  the  solitude  in  all  its 
fulness.  Amidst  thoughts  of  mingled  pain  and  pleasure, 
memories  of  long-past  struggles,  college  triumphs  and  college 
friendships,  came  dreary  recollections  of  dark  reverses,  when 
the  world  seemed  to  fall  back  from  him,  and  leave  him  to 
isolation.     Few  had  ever  started  with  more  ambitious  yearn- 


72  ONE   OF  THEM. 

ings,  —  few  with  more  personal  assurances  of  success.  What- 
ever he  tried  be  was  sure  to  be  told,  "  There  lies  your  road, 
Layton  ;  that  is  the  path  will  lead  you  to  high  rewards,"  He 
had,  besides,  —  strange  inexplicable  gift,  —  that  prestige  of 
superiority  about  him  that  made  men  cede  the  place  to  him, 
as  if  by  prescription.  "And  what  had  come  of  it  all?  — 
what  had  come  of  it  all?"  he  cried  out  aloud,  suddenly 
awaking  out  of  the  past  to  face  the  present.  "Why  have 
I  failed?"  asked  he  wildly  of  himself.  "Is  it  that  others 
have  passed  me  in  the  race?  Have  my  successes  been  dis- 
covered to  have  been  gained  by  trick  or  fraud  ?  Have  my 
acquirements  been  pronounced  mere  pretensions?  These, 
surely,  cannot  be  alleged  of  one  whose  fame  can  be  attested 
by  almost  every  scientific  and  literary  journal  of  the  empire. 
No,  no!  the  explanation  is  easier,  —  the  poet  was  wrong, — 
Fortune  is  a  Deity,  and  some  men  are  born  to  be  unlucky." 

With  a  sudden  start  he  arose,  and  rallied  from  these  mus- 
ings. He  quickly  bethought  himself  of  his  engagement,  and 
continued  his  way  upward.  When  he  reached  the  tableland 
at  top,  it  wanted  but  a  few  minutes  of  five  o'clock,  and  five 
was  the  hour  for  which  he  was  invited,  and  there  was  yet  two 
miles  to  walk  to  the  Eectory.  Any  one  who  has  lived  for  a 
considerable  space  estranged  from  society  and  its  require- 
ments, will  own  to  the  sense  of  slavery  impressed  by  a  return 
to  the  habits  of  the  world.  He  will  feel  that  every  ordinance 
is  a  tjn-anny,  and  the  necessity  of  being  dressed  for  this,  or 
punctual  for  that,  a  downright  bondage. 

Thus  chafing  and  irritable,  Layton  walked  along.  Never 
was  man  less  disposed  to  accept  hospitality  as  a  polite  atten- 
tion, and  more  than  once  did  he  halt,  irresolute  whether  he 
should  not  retrace  his  steps  towards  home.  "No  man," 
thought  he,  "could  get  off  more  cheaply.  They  would 
ascribe  it  all  to  my  ignorance.  What  should  a  poor  devil 
with  eighty  pounds  a  year  know  of  politeness?  and  when  I 
had  said,  /  had  forgotten  the  invitation,  they  would  forget 
me  !  " 

Thus  self-accusing  and  self-disparaging,  he  reached  the 
little  avenue  gate,  which  by  a  trim  gravel  w^alk  led  up  to 
the  parsonage.  The  neat  lodge,  with  its  rustic  porch,  all 
overgrown  with  a  rich  japonica,  —  the  well-kept  road,  along 


PORT-NA-WHAPPLE.  73 

whose  sides  two  little  paved  channels  conducted  the  water, 
—  the  flower-plats  at  intervals  in  the  smooth  emerald  turf, 
were  all  assurances  of  care  and  propriety  ;  and  as  Laytou 
marked  them,  he  muttered,  "  This  is  one  of  the  lucky  ones." 

As  Layton  moved  on  with  laggard  step,  he  halted  fre- 
quently to  mark  some  new  device  or  other  of  ornamental 
gardening.  Now  it  was  a  tasteful  group  of  rock-work,  over 
which  gracefully  creepers  hung  in  festoons ;  now  it  was  a 
little  knot  of  flowering  shrubs,  so  artfully  intermingled  as 
to  seem  as  though  growing  from  a  single  stem ;  now  a 
tiny  fishpond  could  be  descried  through  the  foliage;  even 
the  rustic  seats,  placed  at  points  of  commanding  view, 
seemed  to  say  how  much  the  whole  scene  had  been  planned 
for  enjoyment,  and  that  every  tint  of  foliage,  every  undula- 
tion of  the  sward,  every  distant  glimpse  caught  through  a 
narrow  vista,  had  all  been  artfully  contrived  to  yield  its 
share  of   pleasure. 

"  I  wonder,"  muttered  he,  bitterly,  to  himself,  —  "I  wonder 
wheu  this  man  preaches  on  a  Sunday  against  wealth  and  its 
temptations,  reminding  others  that  out  of  this  world  men  take 
nothing,  but  go  out  upon  their  new  pilgrimage  naked  and 
poor,  does  he  ever  turn  a  thought  to  all  these  things,  so 
beautiful  now,  and  with  that  vitality  that  will  make  them 
beautiful  years  and  years  after  he  himself  has  become  dust? 
I  have  little  doubt,"  added  he,  hurriedly,  "that  he  says  all 
this,  and  believes  it  too.  Here  am  I,  after  just  as  many  de- 
terminations to  eat  no  man's  salt,  nor  sit  down  to  any  board 
better  than  my  own,  —  here  I  am  to-day  creeping  like  a  poor 
parasite  to  a  great  man's  table,  —  ay,  he  is  a  great  man  to 
me  ! 

"How  strange  is  the  casuistry,  too,  with  which  humble 
people  like  myself  persuade  themselves  that  they  go  into 
the  world  against  their  will ;  that  they  do  so  purely  from 
motives  of  policy,  forgetting  all  the  while  how  ignoble  is 
the  motive  they  lay  claim  to. 

"The  old  Roman  moralist  told  us  that  poverty  had  no 
heavier  infliction  in  its  train  than  that  it  made  men  ridicu- 
lous, but  I  tell  him  he  is  wrong.  It  makes  men  untrue  to 
themselves,  false  to  their  own  hearts,  enemies  to  their  own 
convictions,  doing  twenty  things  every  day  of  their  lives  that 


74  ONE   OF  THEM. 

they  affect  to  deem  prudent,  and  know  to  be  contemptible.  I 
wish  my  worthy  host  had  left  me  unnoticed  !  " 

He  was  at  last  at  the  door,  and  rang  the  bell  with  the 
impatient  boldness  of  one  chafing  and  angry  with  himself. 
There  was  a  short  delay,  for  the  servants  were  all  engaged 
in  the  dining-room,  and  Layton  rang  again. 

"Dr.  Millar  at  home?"  asked  he,  sternly,  of  the  well- 
powdered  footman  who  stood  before  him. 

"  Yes,  sir ;    he  's  at  dinner." 

"  At  dinner  !     I  was  invited  to  dinner !  " 

"I  know,  sir;  and  the  doctor  waited  for  half  an  hour 
beyond  the  time ;  but  he  has  only  gone  in  this  moment." 

It  is  just  possible,  in  Lay  ton's  then  frame  of  mind,  that 
he  had  turned  away  and  left  the  house,  never  to  re-enter  it, 
when  a  slight  circumstance  determined  him  to  the  opposite. 
This  was  the  footman's  respectful  manner  as  he  took  the  hat 
from  his  hand,  and  threw  wide  the  door  for  him  to  pass  on- 
ward. Ay,  it  is  ever  so!  Things  too  trivial  and  insignifi- 
cant for  notice  in  this  life  are  every  hour  influencing  our 
actions  and  swaying  our  motives.  Men  have  stormed  a 
breach  for  a  smile,  and  gone  out  in  black  despair  with  life 
just  for  a  cold  word  or  a  cold  look.  So  much  more  quickly 
does  the  heart  influence  than  the  head,  even  with  the  very 
cleverest  amongst  us. 

As  Layton  entered  the  dining-room,  his  host  rose  to 
receive  him,  and,  with  a  polished  courtesy,  apologized  for 
having  gone  to  table  before  his  arrival.  "  I  gave  you  half 
an  hour,  doctor,  and  I  would  have  given  you  longer,  but 
that  I  am  aware  a  physician  is  not  always  master  of  his 
time.  Colonel  Karstairs  you  are  acquainted  with.  Let  me 
present  you  to  Mr.  Ogden.     Dr.  Layton,  Mr.  Ogden." 

There  is  no  manner  that  so  impresses  the  world  with  the 
idea  of  self-sufficiency  and  pretension  as  that  of  the  bashful 
man  contending  against  his  own  diffidence ;  and  this  same 
timidity,  that  one  would  imagine  so  easily  rubbed  off  by  con- 
tact with  the  world,  actually  increases  with  age,  and,  how- 
ever glossed  over  by  an  assumed  ease  and  a  seeming  indif- 
ference, lives  to  torment  its  possessor  to  his  last  day.  Of 
this  Layton  was  an  unhappy  victim,  and  while  imbued  with 
a  consummate  self-esteem,  he  had  a  painful  consciousness  of 


PORT-NA-WHAPPLE.  75 

the  criticism  that  his  manner  and  breeding  might  call  forth. 
The  result  of  this  conflict  was  to  render  him  stern,  defiant, 
and  even  overbearing,  —  traits  which  imparted  their  character 
even  to  his  features  in  first  intercourse  with  strangers. 

"  I  don't  know  how  Halford  managed  it,"  said  Mr.  Ogden, 
as  he  reseated  himself  at  table,  "  but  I  've  heard  him  say 
that  his  professional  engagements  never  lost  him  a  dinner." 

Simple  as  were  these  words,  they  contained  a  rebuke,  and 
the  air  of  the  man  that  uttered  them  did  not  diminish  their 
significance. 

Mr.  Ogden  was  a  thin,  pale,  pock-marked  man,  with  an 
upstanding  head  of  gray  hair,  a  very  high  and  retreating 
forehead,  and  a  long  upper  lip,  —  one  of  those  men  in  whom 
the  face,  disproportionately  large  for  the  head,  always  gives 
the  impression  of  a  self-sufficient  nature.  He  had  a  harsh, 
sharp  voice,  with  an  articulation  of  a  most  painful  accuracy, 
even  his  commonplaces  being  enunciated  with  a  sort  of 
distinct  impressiveness,  as  though  to  imply  that  his  copper 
was  of  more  value  than  another  man's  gold.  Nor  was  this 
altogether  a  delusion  ;  he  had  had  a  considerable  experience 
of  mankind  and  the  world,  and  had  contrived  to  pass  his  bad 
money  on  them  as  excellent  coin  of  the  realm.  He  was  — 
and  it  is  very  distinctive  in  its  mark  —  one  of  those  men 
who  always  live  in  a  class  above  their  own,  and,  whatever 
be  the  recognition  and  the  acceptance  they  have  there,  are 
ever  regarded  by  their  rightful  equals  as  something  pecu- 
liarly privileged  and  superior. 

"  My  Lord  "  would  have  called  him  a  useful  man  ;  his 
friends  all  described  him  as  "  influential."  But  he  was  some- 
thing greater  than  either,  —  he  was  a  successful  man.  We 
are  constantly  told  that  the  efficiency  of  our  army  is  mainly 
owing  to  the  admirable  skill  and  ability  of  its  petty  ofhcers. 
That  to  their  unobtrusive  diligence,  care,  and  intelligence 
we  are  indebted  for  all  those  qualities  by  which  a  force  is 
rendered  manageable,  and  victories  are  won.  Do  we  not  see 
something  very  similar  in  our  Bureaucracy?  Is  not  our 
Government  itself  almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of  "  petty 
officers"?  The  great  minister  who  rises  in  his  place  in 
Parliament,  the  exponent  of  some  grand  policy,  the  author 
of  some  extensive  measure,  is,  after  all,  little  more  than  the 


76  ONE   OF  THEM. 

mouthpiece  of  some  "  Mr.  Ogden"  in  Downing  Street;  some 
not  very  brilliant  or  very  statesmanlike  personage,  but  a  man 
of  business  habits,  every-day  intelligence,  and  long  official 
traditions,  —  one  of  those  three  or  four  men  in  all  England 
who  can  say  to  a  minister,  "  It  can't  be  done,"  and  yet  give 
no  reason  why. 

The  men  of  this  Ogden  stamp  are,  in  reality,  great  influ- 
ences in  a  country  like  ours,  where  frequent  changes  of 
government  require  that  the  conditions  of  office  should  be 
transmitted  through  something  higher  and  more  responsible 
than  mere  clerks.  They  are  the  stokers  who  keep  the  fires 
alight  and  the  steam  up  till  a  new  captain  comes  aboard,  and, 
though  neither  commanders  nor  pilots,  they  do  manage  to 
influence  the  course  of  the  ship,  by  the  mere  fact  that  they 
can  diminish  the  force  of  her  speed  or  increase  its  power 
without  any  one  being  very  well  aware  of  how  or  wherefore. 

Such  men  as  these  are  great  people  in  that  dingy  old 
house,  wliose  frail  props  without  are  more  than  emblems  of 
what  goes  on  within.  Of  their  very  offices  men  speak  as  of 
the  Holy  of  Holies ;  places  where  none  enter  fearlessly  save 
secretaries  of  state,  and  at  whose  door  inferior  mortals  wipe 
their  feet  with  heart-sinking  fear  and  lowness  of  spirit,  re- 
hearsing not  unfrequently  the  abject  words  of  submissiveness 
with  which  they  are  to  approach  such  greatness. 

It  is  curious,  therefore,  to  see  one  of  these  men  in  private 
life.  One  wishes  to  know  how  M.  Houdin  will  look  without 
his  conjuring-rod,  or  what  Coriolanus  will  do  in  plain 
clothes;  for,  after  all,  he  must  come  into  the  world  unat- 
tended with  his  belongings,  and  can  no  more  carry  Downing 
Street  about  with  him  than  could  Albert  Smith  carry 
"China"  to  a  dinner-party. 

And  now  the  soup  has  been  brought  back,  and  the  fish, 
somewhat  cold  and  mangled,  to  be  sure,  has  been  served 
to  Dr.  Layton;  the  servant  has  helped  him  to  an  admi- 
rable glass  of  sherry,  and  the  dinner  proceeds  pleasantly 
enough,  —  not,  however,  without  its  casualties.  But  of 
these  the  next  chapter  will  tell  us. 


CHAPTER   EX. 

A    DINNER    AT   THE    RECTORY. 

There  are  men  who  have  specialities  for  giving  admirable 
"little  dinners,"  and  little  dinners  are  unquestionably  the 
ne  plus  ultra  of  social  enjoyment.  To  accomplish  these 
there  are  far  more  requirements  necessary  than  the  world 
usually  wots  of.  They  are  not  the  triumphs  of  great 
houses,  with  regiments  of  yellow  plush  and  gold  candelabra ; 
they  affect  no  vast  dining-rooms,  nor  a  private  band.  They 
are,  on  the  contrary,  the  prerogatives  of  moderate  incomes, 
middle-aged  or  elderly  hosts,  usually  bachelors,  with  small 
houses,  furnished  in  the  perfection  of  comfort,  without  any 
display,  but  where  everything,  from  the  careful  disposal  of 
a  fire-screen  to  the  noiseless  gait  of  the  footman,  shows  you 
that  a  certain  supervision  and  discipline  prevail,  even 
though  you  never  hear  an  order  and  rarely  see  a  servant. 

Where  these  people  get  their  cooks,  I  never  could  make 
out!  It  is  easy  enough  to  understand  that  fish  and  soup, 
your  sirloin  and  your  woodcock,  could  be  well  and  carefully 
dressed,  but  who  devised  that  exquisite  little  entree^  what 
genius  presided  over  that  dish  of  macaroni,  that  omelette, 
or  that  souflif^?  Whence,  besides,  came  the  infinite  taste  of 
the  whole  meal,  with  its  few  dishes,  served  in  an  order  of 
artistic  elegance?  And  that  butler,  too, — how  quiet,  how 
observant,  how  noiseless  his  ministration;  how  steady  his 
decanter  hand!  Where  did  they  find  him?  And  that  pale 
sherry,  and  that  Chablis,  and  that  exquisite  cup  of  Mocha? 
Don't  tell  me  that  you  or  I  can  have  them  all  as  good, —  that 
you  know  his  wine-merchant,  and  have  the  receipt  for  his 
coffee.  You  might  as  well  tell  me  you  could  sing  like  Mario 
because  you  employ  his  hairdresser.  No,  no;  they  who 
accomplish  these  things  are  peculiar  organizations.     They 


78  ONE   OF  THEM. 

have  great  gifts  of  order  and  system,  the  nicest  perceptions 
of  taste,  considerable  refinement,  and  no  small  share  of  sen- 
suality. They  possess  a  number  of  high  qualities  in  minia- 
ture, and  are,  so  to  say,  "great  men  seen  through  the  wrong 
end  of  a  telescope." 

Of  this  the  Rev.  Dr.  Millar  was  a  pleasing  specimen. 
With  that  consciousness  of  having  done  everything  pos- 
sible for  your  comfort  which  makes  a  good  host,  he  had 
a  racy  gratification  in  quietly  watching  your  enjoyment. 
Easily  and  unobtrusively  marking  your  taste  for  this  or 
preference  for  that,  he  would  contrive  that  your  liking 
should  be  gratified,  as  though  by  mere  accident,  and  never 
let  you  know  yourself  a  debtor  for  the  attentions  bestowed 
upon  you.  It  was  his  pride  to  have  a  perfect  establishment: 
would  that  all  vanity  were  as  harmless  and  as  pleasurable 
to  others !  And  now  to  the  dinner,  which,  in  our  digression, 
we  are  forgetting. 

"Try  these  cutlets,  doctor,"  interposed  the  host.  "It  is 
a  receipt  I  brought  back  with  me  from  Provence;  I  think 
you  '11  find  them  good." 

"An  over-rich,  greasy  sort  of  cuisine  is  the  Provenqale," 
remarked  Ogden. 

"And  yet  almost  every  good  cook  of  France  comes  from 
that  country,"  said  Layton. 

Ogden  raised  his  large  double  eye-glass  to  look  at  the  man 
who  thus  dared  to  "cap"  a  remark  of  his. 

"I  wish  we  could  get  out  of  the  bastard  French  cookery 
all  the  clubs  give  us  nowadays,"  said  the  Colonel.  "You 
neither  see  a  good  English  joint  nor  a  well-dressed  entree." 

"An  emblem  of  the  alliance,"  said  Layton,  "where  each 
nation  spoils  something  of  its  own  in  the  effort  to  be  more 
palatable  to  its  neighbor." 

"Apparently,  then,  sir,  the  great  statesmen  who  promoted 
this  policy  are  not  fortunate  enough  to  enjoy  your  sanc- 
tion?" said  Ogden,  with  an  insolent  air. 

"My  sanction  is  scarcely  the  word  for  it.  They  have 
not,  certainly,  my  approval." 

"I  hope  you  like  French  wines,  though,  doctor,"  said  the 
host,  eager  to  draw  the  conversation  into  some  easier  chan- 
nel.    "Taste  that  Sauterne." 


A  DINNER   AT  THE   RECTORY.  79 

"It  only  wants  age  to  be  perfect,"  said  the  doctor,  sip- 
ping. "All  these  French  white  wines  require  more  time 
than  the  red." 

Ogden  again  looked  through  his  glass  at  the  dispensary 
doctor  who  thus  dared  to  give  judgment  on  a  question  of 
such  connoisseurship;  and  then,  with  the  air  of  one  not 
easily  imposed  on,  said,  — 

"  You  have  travelled  much  abroad,  perhaps  ?  " 

Layton  bowed  a  silent  assent. 

"  I  think  I  saw  a  German  diploma  amongst  the  papers 
you  forwarded  to  our  committee?"  said  Karstairs. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  doctor  of  medicine  of  Gottingen." 

"A  university,  I  verily  believe,  only  known  to  English- 
men through  Canning's  doggerel,"  said  Ogden. 

"I  trust  not,  sir.  I  hope  that  Blumenbach's  name  alone 
would  rescue  it  from  such  oblivion." 

"I  like  the  Germans,  I  confess,"  broke  in  the  Colonel. 
"I  served  with  Areutschild's  Hanoverians,  and  never  knew 
better  or  pleasanter  fellows." 

"Oh,  I  by  no  means  undei^value  Germans!  "  said  Ogden. 
"I  think  we,  at  this  very  moment,  owe  to  them  no  small 
gratitude  for  suggesting  to  us  the  inestimable  practice  of 
examination  for  all  public  employment." 

"In  my  mind,  the  greatest  humbug  of  an  age  of  humbug!  " 
said  Layton,  fiercely. 

"Nay,  doctor,  you  will,  I  'm  certain,  recall  your  words 
when  I  tell  you  that  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Ogden,  is  one  of 
the  most  distinguished  promoters  of  that  system." 

"The  gentleman  would  confer  a  far  deeper  obligation 
upon  me  by  sustaining  than  by  withdrawing  his  thesis," 
said  Ogden,  with  a  sarcastic  smile. 

"To  undertake  the  task  of  sustaining  the  cause  of  igno- 
rance against  knowledge,"  said  Layton,  quietly,  "would  be 
an  ungrateful  one  always.  In  the  present  case,  too,  it 
would  be  like  pitting  myself  against  that  gentleman  oppo- 
site.    I  decline  such  an  office." 

"So,  then,  you  confess  that  such  would  be  your  cause, 
sir?"  said  Ogden,  triumphantly. 

"No,  sir;  but  it  would  partake  so  much  the  appearance 
of  such  a  struggle,  that  I  cannot  accept  it.     What  I  called  a 


80  ONE   OF  THEM. 

humbug  was  the  attempt  to  test  men's  fitness  for  the  public 
service  by  an  examination  at  which  the  most  incapable 
might  distinguish  himself,  and  the  ablest  not  pass.  The 
system  of  examination  begot  the  system  of  '  grinding, '  —  a 
vulgar  term  for  a  more  vulgar  practice,  and  a  system  the 
most  fatal  to  all  liberal  education,  limiting  study  to  a  ques- 
tion-aud-answer  formula,  and  making  acquirements  only 
desirable  when  within  the  rubric  of  a  Government  commis- 
sion. Very  different  would  have  been  the  result  if  the 
diploma  of  certain  recognized  educational  establishments 
had  been  required  as  qualification  to  serve  the  State;  if 
the  law  ran,  '  You  shall  be  a  graduate  of  this  university,  or 
that  college,  or  possess  the  licentiate  degree  of  that 
school. '  " 

"Your  observations  seem,  then,  rather  directed  against 
certain  commissioners  than  the  system  they  practise?  "  said 
Odgen,  sarcastically. 

"Scarcely,  sir.  My  experience  is  very  limited.  I  never 
met  but  one  of  them!  " 

The  Colonel  laughed  heartily  at  this  speech, —  he  could  n't 
help  it;  and  even  the  host,  mortified  as  he  was,  gave  a  half- 
smile.  As  for  Ogden,  his  pale  face  grew  a  shade  sicklier, 
and  his  green  eyes  more  fishy. 

"To  question  the  post-office  clerk  or  the  landing  waiter," 
continued  Layton,  with  fresh  warmth, —  for  when  excited  he 
could  rarely  control  himself,  — "to  test  some  poor  aspirant 
for  eighty  pounds  per  annum  in  his  knowledge  of  mathe- 
matics or  his  skill  in  physical  geography,  while  you  make 
governors  that  cannot  speak  correctly,  and  vice-governors 
whose  despatches  are  the  scorn  of  Downing  Street;  to  pro- 
claim that  you  want  your  tide-waiter  to  be  a  moral  philoso- 
pher, but  that  the  highest  offices  in  the  State  may  be  held 
by  any  political  partisan  active  enough,  troublesome  enough, 
and  noisy  enough  to  make  himself  worth  purchase;  you 
demand  logarithms  and  special  geometry  from  a  clerk  in 
the  Customs,  while  you  make  a  mill-owner  a  cabinet  min- 
ister on  the  simple  showing  of  his  persevering;  and  your 
commissioners,  too,  — '  Quis  custodiet,  ipsos  custodes! '  " 

"You  probably,  however,  submitted  to  be  examined, 
once  on  a  time,  for  your  medical  degree?  "  asked  Ogden. 


A  DINNER  AT  THE   RECTORY.  81 

"Yes,  sir;  and  that  ordeal  once  passed,  I  had  ample  leis- 
ure to  unlearn  the  mass  of  useless  rubbish  required  of  me, 
and  to  address  myself  to  the  real  cares  of  my  profession. 
But  do  you  suppose  that  if  it  were  demanded  of  me  to  sub- 
ject mj'self  to  another  examination  to  hold  the  humble  post 
I  now  till,  that  I  should  have  accepted  it?" 

"I  really  cannot  answer  that  question,"  said  Ogden, 
superciliously. 

''Then  I  will,  sir.  I  would  not  have  done  so.  Eighty 
pounds  a  year  is  a  very  attractive  bribe,  but  it  may  require 
too  costly  a  sacrifice  to  win  it." 

"The  neighborhood  is  a  very  poor  one,"  struck  in  Millar, 
"and,  indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  strenuous  exertions 
of  my  friend  Colonel  Karstairs  here,  we  should  never  have 
raised  the  forty  pounds  which  gives  us  the  claim 'for  as 
much  more  in  the  presentments." 

"And  yet  you  got  two  hundred  and  thirty  for  a  regatta 
in  June  last!  "  said  Layton,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

"The  way  of  the  world,  doctor;  the  way  of  the  world! 
Men  are  never  stingy  in  what  regards  their  own  amuse- 
ments ! " 

"That  is  the  port,  doctor;  the  other  is  Lafitte,"  said  the 
rector,  as  he  saw  Layton  hesitate  about  a  choice. 

And  now  the  talk  took  a  capricious  turn,  as  it  will  do 
occasionally,  in  those  companies  where  people  are  old- 
fashioned  enough  to  "  sit "  after  dinner,  and  let  the  decanter 
circulate.  Even  here,  however,  conversation  could  not  run 
smoothly.  Ogden  launched  into  the  manufacture  of  wines, 
the  chemistry  of  adulterations,  and  the  grape  disease,  on 
every  one  of  which  Layton  found  sometliiug  to  correct  him, 
—  some  slip  or  error  to  set  right,  —  an  annoyance  all  the 
more  poignant  that  Karstairs  seemed  to  enjoy  it  heartily. 
From  fabricated  wines  to  poisons  the  transition  was  easy, 
and  they  began  to  talk  of  certain  curious  trials  wherein  the 
medical  testimony  formed  the  turning-point  of  conviction. 
Here,  again,  Layton  was  his  superior  in  information,  and 
made  the  superiority  felt.  Of  what  the  most  subtle  tests 
consisted,  and  wherein  their  fallacy  lay,  he  was  thoroughly 
master,,  while  his  retentive  memory  supplied  a  vast  variety 
of  curious  and  interesting  illustration. 


82  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Has  our  reader  ever  "assisted  "  at  a  scene  where  the  great 
talker  of  a  company  has  unexpectedly  found  himself  con- 
fronted by  some  unknown,  undistinguished  competitor,  who, 
with  the  pertinacity  of  an  actual  persecution,  will  follow  him 
through  all  the  devious  windings  of  an  evening's  conversa- 
tion, ever  present  to  correct,  contradict,  amend,  or  refute? 
In  vain  the  hunted  martyr  seeks  out  some  new  line  of  coun- 
try, or  starts  new  game ;  his  tormentor  is  ever  close  behind 
him.  Ogden  wandered  from  law  to  literature.  He  tried 
art,  scientific  discovery,  religious  controversy,  agriculture, 
foreign  travel,  the  drama,  and  field  sports;  and  Layton  fol- 
lowed him  through  all,  —  always  able  to  take  up  the  theme 
and  carry  it  beyond  where  the  other  had  halted.  If  Millar 
underwent  all  the  tortures  of  an  unhappy  host  at  this,  Ivar- 
stairs  was  in  ecstasy.  He  had  been  spending  a  week  at  the 
Rectory  in  Ogden 's  company,  and  it  seemed  a  sort  of  just 
retribution  now  that  this  dictatorial  personage  should  have 
met  his  persecutor.  Layton,  always  drinking  deeply  as  the 
wine  came  to  him,  and  excited  by  a  sort  of  conflict  which 
for  years  back  he  had  never  known,  grew  more  and  more 
daring  in  his  contradictions,  less  deferential,  and  less  fear- 
ful of  offending.  Whatever  little  reserve  he  had  felt  at 
first,  oozed  away  as  the  evening  advanced.  The  law  of 
physics  is  the  rule  of  morals,  and  as  the  swing  of  the  pen- 
dulum is  greater  in  proportion  to  the  retraction,  so  the  bash- 
ful man,  once  emancipated  from  his  reserve,  becomes  the 
most  daringly  aggressive  to  mortals.  Not  content  with  re- 
futing, he  now  ridiculed ;  his  vein  of  banter  was  his  richest, 
and  he  indulged  it  in  all  the  easy  freedom  of  one  who  defied 
reprisals.  Millar  tried  once  or  twice  to  interpose,  and  was 
at  last  fain  to  suggest  that,  as  the  decanters  came  round 
untouched,  they  should  adjourn  to  coffee. 

Ogden  rose  abruptly  at  the  intimation,  and,  muttering 
something  inaudible,  led  the  way  into  the  drawing-room. 

"You  have  been  too  hard  upon  him,  doctor,"  whispered 
Karstairs,  as  he  walked  along  at  Layton's  side.  "You 
should  be  more  careful ;  he  is  a  man  of  note  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Channel ;  he  was  a  Treasury  Lord  for  some  six 
months  once,  and  is  always  in  office  somewhere.  I  see  you 
are  rather  sorry  for  this  yourself." 


A   DINNER   AT  THE   KECTORY.  83 

"Sorry !  I  'm  sorry  to  leave  that  glorious  Madeira,  which 
I  know  I  shall  never  taste  again,"  said  Lay  ton,  sternly. 

"Are  you  a  smoker,  Dr.  Layton?"  said  the  host.  "If 
80,  don't  forget  this  house  gives  all  a  bachelor's  privileges. 
Try  these  cheroots." 

"Liberty  Hall!"  chimed  in  the  Colonel,  with  a  vacant 
laugh. 

"Not  a  bad  name  for  your  dining-room,  Miliar,"  said 
Ogdeu,  bitterly. 

A  slight  shrug  was  the  parson's  answer. 

"Is  this  man  a  frequent  guest  here?"  he  asked  again,  in 
a  low  whisper. 

"It  is  his  first  time.  I  need  scarcely  say,  it  shall  be  his 
last,"  replied  Millar,  as  cautiously. 

"I  felt  for  you,  Millar.  I  felt  what  pain  he  must  have 
been  giving  you,  though,  for  myself,  I  pledge  you  my  word 
it  was  most  amusing;  his  violence,  his  presumption,  the 
dictatorial  tone  in  which  he  affirmed  his  opinions,  were  high 
comedy.     I  was  half  sorry  when  you  proposed  coffee." 

Under  pretence  of  admiring  some  curiously  carved 
men,  Karstairs  had  withdrawn  the  doctor  into  a  small  room 
adjoining;  but,  in  reality,  his  object  was  the  friendly  one 
of  suggesting  greater  caution  and  more  reserve  on  his 
part. 

"I  don't  say,"  whispered  he, — "I  don't  say  that  you 
were  n't  right,  and  he  wrong  in  everything.  I  know  noth- 
ing about  false  quantities  in  Latin,  or  German  metaphysics, 
or  early  Christian  art.  You  may  be  an  authority  in  all  of 
them.  All  I  say  is,  he  is  a  great  Government  official,  and 
you  are  a  village  doctor." 

"That  was  exactly  why  I  could  n't  let  slip  the  oppor- 
tunity," broke  in  Layton.  "Let  me  tell  you  an  incident  I 
once  witnessed  in  my  old  days  of  coach  travelling.  I  was 
going  up  from  Liverpool  to  London  in  the  '  Umpire,'  that 
wonderful  fast  coach  that  astonished  the  world  by  making 
the  journey  in  thirty-six  hours.  I  sat  behind  the  coach- 
man, and  was  struck  by  the  appearance  of  the  man  on  the 
box-seat,  who,  though  it  was  the  depth  of  winter,  and  the 
day  one  of  cutting  sleet  and  cold  wind,  wore  no  upper  coat, 
or  any  protection  against  the  weather.     He  was,  as  you  may 


84  ONE   OF  THEM. 

imagine,  speedily  wet  through,  and  presented  in  his  drip- 
ping and  soaked  habiliments  as  sorry  a  spectacle  as  need 
be.  In  fact,  if  any  man's  external  could  proclaim  want 
and  privation,  his  did.  The  signs  of  poverty,  however, 
could  not  screen  him  from  the  application  of  '  Won't  you 
remember  the  coachman,  sir?'  He,  with  no  small  diffi- 
culty, —  for  he  was  nearly  benumbed  with  cold,  —  extri- 
cated a  sixpence  from  his  pocket  and  tendered  it.  The 
burly  driver  flung  it  contemptuously  back  to  him  with  in- 
sult, and  sneeringly  asked  him  how  he  could  dare  to  seat 
himself  on  the  box  when  he  was  travelling  like  a  pauper? 
The  traveller  never  answered  a  word;  a  slight  flush,  once, 
indeed,  showed  how  the  insult  stung  him,  but  he  never 
uttered  a  syllable. 

"  '  If  I  had  you  down  here  for  five  minutes,  I  'd  teach  you 
as  how  you  'd  set  yourself  on  the  box-seat  again !  '  cried 
coachee,  whose  passion  seemed  only  aggravated  by  the 
other's  submission.  Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  when 
the  dripping  traveller  began  to  descend  from  the  coach.  He 
was  soon  on  the  ground,  and  almost  as  he  touched  it  the 
coachman  rushed  upon  him.  It  was  a  hand-to-hand  con- 
flict, which,  however,  could  not  have  lasted  four  minutes. 
The  stranger  not  only  '  stopped  '  every  blow  of  the  other, 
but  followed  each  '  stop  '  by  a  well-sent-in  one  of  his  own, 
dealt  with  a  force  that,  judging  from  his  size,  seemed 
miraculous.  With  closed  eyes,  a  smashed  jaw,  and  a  dis- 
abled wi-ist,  the  coachman  was  carried  away;  while  the 
other,  as  he  drank  off  a  glass  of  cold  water,  simply  said, 
'  If  that  man  wishes  to  know  where  to  find  me  again,  tell 
him  to  ask  for  Tom  Spring,  Crane  Alley,  Borough  Road !  '  " 

Karstairs  followed  the  anecdote  with  interest,  but,  some- 
how—  for  he  was  not  a  very  brilliant  man,  though  "an 
excellent  officer"  —  missed  the  application.  "Capital  — 
excellent  —  by  Jove!  "  cried  he.  "I  'd  have  given  a  crown 
to  have  seen  it." 

Layton  turned  away  in  half  ill-humor. 

"And  so  it  was  Tom  Spring  himself?  "  said  the  Colonel. 
"Who  'd  have  guessed  it?  " 

Layton  made  no  reply,  but  began  to  set  the  chessmen  upon 
the  board  at  random. 


A   DINNER   AT  THE   RECTORY.  85 

"Is  this  another  amongst  your  manifold  accomplishments, 
sir?  "  asked  Ogdeu,  as  he  came  up  to  the  table. 

"I  play  most  games,"  said  Laytou,  carelessly;  "but  it's 
only  at  billiards  that  I  pretend  to  any  skill." 

"I'm  a  very  unworthy  antagonist,"  said  Ogden;  "but 
perhaps  you  will  condescend  to  a  game  with  me,  —  at  chess, 
I  mean?" 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Layton,  setting  the  pieces  at  once. 
He  won  the  first  move,  and  just  as  he  was  about  to  begin  he 
stopped,  and  said,  "I  wish  I  knew  your  strength." 

"The  players  give  me  a  knight,  and  generally  beat  me," 
said  Ogden. 

"Oh!  I  understand.  Will  you  allow  me  to  fetch  a 
cheroot?  I  move  king's  knight's  pawn  one  square." 
He  arose  as  he  spoke,  and  walked  into  the  adjoining 
room. 

Ogden  moved  his  queen's  pawn. 

Layton,  from  the  adjoining  room,  asked  the  move,  and 
then  said,  "King's  bishop  to  knight's  first  square;"  mean- 
while continuing  to  search  for  a  cigar  to  his  liking. 

"Do  you  purpose  to  continue  the  game  without  seeing  the 
board?  "  asked  Ogden,  as  he  bit  his  lip  with  impatience. 

"Not  if  you  prefer  otherwise,"  said  Layton,  who  now 
came  back  to  his  place,  with  his  cigar  fully  lighted. 

"You  see  what  an  inexorable  enemy  I  have,  Millar,"  said 
Ogden,  with  an  affected  laugh;  "he  will  not  be  satisfied 
unless  my  defeat  be  ignominious." 

"Is  it  so  certain  to  be  a  defeat,  George?  "  said  the  rector. 
"  Chess  was  always  your  great  game.  I  remember  how  the 
Windsor  Club  entertained  you  on  the  occasion  of  your  vic- 
tory over  that  Swiss  player,  ICshwald." 

"And  so  you  have  beaten  Eshwald,"  broke  in  Layton,  has- 
tily. "We  must  give  no  quarter  here."  And  with  this  he 
threw  away  his  cigar,  and  bent  down  over  the  board. 

"We  shall  only  disturb  them,  Karstairs;  come  along  into 
the  drawing-room,  and  let  us  talk  parish  business,"  said  the 
rector.  "Our  little  dinner  has  scarcely  gone  off  so  well  as 
I  had  expected,"  said  Millar,  when  they  were  alone.  "I 
meant  to  do  our  doctor  a  service,  by  asking  him  to  meet 
Odgen,  who  has  patronage  and  influence  in  every  quarter; 


86  ONE  OF  THEM. 

but  I  suspect  that  this  evening  will  be  remembered  griev- 
ously against  him." 

"I  confess  I  was  highly  amused  at  it  all,  and  not  sorry 
to  see  your  friend  Ogden  so  sorely  baited.  You  know  well 
what  a  life  he  has  led  us  here  for  the  last  week." 

"A  hard  hitter  sometimes,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  rector, 
smiling;  "but  a  well-meaning  man,  and  always  ready  for  a 
kind  action.  I  wish  Layton  had  used  more  moderation,  — 
more  deference  towards  him." 

"Your  Madeira  did  it  all,  Millar.  Why  did  you  give  the 
fellow  such  insinuating  tipple  as  that  old  '31  wine?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  was  not  forewarned,"  continued  Millar. 
"  I  was  told,  on  his  coming  down  to  our  neighborhood,  to 
be  careful  of  him.  It  was  even  intimated  to  me  that  his 
ungovernable  and  overbearing  temper  had  wrecked  his  whole 
fortune  in  life;  for,  of  course,  one  can  easily  see  such  a 
man  ought  not  to  be  sentenced  to  the  charge  of  a  village 
dispensary." 

"No  matter  how  clever  you  are,  there  must  be  discipline; 
that 's  what  I  've  always  told  the  youngsters  in  my 
regiment." 

The  rector  sighed ;  it  was  one  of  those  hopeless  little  sighs 
a  man  involuntarily  heaves  when  he  finds  that  his  companion 
in  a  tete-a-tete  is  always  "half  an  hour  behind  the  coach." 

"I  intended,  besides,"  resumed  Millar,  "that  Ogden 
should  have  recommended  to  the  Government  the  establish- 
ment of  a  small  hospital  down  here;  an  additional  fifty  or 
sixty  pounds  a  year  would  have  been  a  great  help  to 
Layton." 

"And  of  course  he  '11  do  it,  when  you  ask  him,"  said  the 
hearty  Colonel.  "Now  that  he  has  seen  the  man,  and  had 
the  measure  of  his  capacity,  he  '11  be  all  the  readier  to  serve 
him." 

"The  cleverest  of  all  my  school  and  college  companions 
sacrificed  his  whole  career  in  life  by  shooting  the  pheasant 
a  great  minister  had  just  '  marked.'  He  was  about  to  be 
invited  to  spend  a  week  at  Drayton ;  but  the  invitation  never 
came." 

"I  protest,  Millar,  I  don't  understand  that  sort  of  thing." 

"Have  you  never  felt,  when  walking  very  fast,  and  eagerly 


A  DINNER  AT  THE   RECTORY.  87 

intent  upon  some  object,  that  if  an  urchin  crossed  your 
path,  or  came  rudely  against  you,  it  was  hard  to  resist  the 
temptation  of  giving  him  a  box  on  the  ear?  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that  the  cases  are  parallel,  but  great  people  do,  some- 
how, acquire  a  habit  of  thinking  that  the  road  ought  always 
to  be  cleared  for  tlieni^  and  they  will  not  endure  whatever 
interferes  with  their  wishes." 

"But  don't  you  think  if  you  gave  Layton  a  hint  —  " 

"Isn't  that  like  it?     Hear  that  —  " 

A  loud  burst  of  laughter  from  the  adjoining  room  cut 
short  the  colloquy,  and  Layton' s  voice  was  heard  in  a  tone 
of  triumph,  saying,  "I  saw  your  plan  —  I  even  let  you  follow 
it  up  to  the  last,  for  I  knew  you  were  checkmated." 

"I  'm  off  my  play;  I  have  not  touched  a  chessman  these 
three  years,"  said  Ogden,  pettishly. 

"Nor  I  for  three  times  three  years;  nor  was  it  ever  my 
favorite  game." 

"I'm  coming  to  crave  a  cup  of  tea  from  you,  Millar," 
said  Ogden,  entering  the  drawing-room,  flushed  in  the 
cheek,  and  with  a  flurried  manner. 

"Who  won  the  game?"  asked  the  Colonel,  eagerly. 

"Dr.  Layton  was  the  conqueror;  but  I  don't  regard  my- 
self as  an  ignoble  foe,  notwithstanding,"  said  Ogden,  with 
a  sort  of  look  of  appeal  towards  the  doctor. 

"I  '11  give  you  a  bishop  and  play  you  for  —  "  He  stopped 
in  some  confusion,  and  then,  with  an  effort  at  a  laugh, 
added,  "I  was  going  to  say  fifty  pounds,  quite  forgetting 
that  it  was  possible  you  might  beat  me." 

"  And  yet,  sir,  I  have  the  presumption  to  think  that  there 
are  things  which  I  could  do  fully  as  well  as  Dr.  Layton." 

Layton  turned  hastily  round  from  the  table,  where,  having 
half  filled  a  large  glass  with  brandy,  he  was  about  to  fill  up 
with  soda-water;  he  set  down  the  unopened  soda-water 
bottle,  and,  drinking  off  the  raw  spirit  at  a  draught,  said, — 

"What  are  they  ?  Let 's  hear  them,  for  I  take  the  challenge ; 
these  gentlemen  be  my  witnesses  that'I  accepted  the  gage 
before  I  knew  your  weapon."  Here  he  replenished  his  glass, 
and  this  time  still  higher  than  before,  and  drank  it  off. 
"You  have,  doubtless,  your  speciality,  your  pet  subject,  art 
or   science,    what   is    it?      Or   have   you   more  than  one? 


88  ONE   OF  THEM. 

You  're  not  like  the  fellow  that  Scott  tells  us  could  only 
talk  of  tanned  leather,  —  eh,  Millar,  you  remember  that 
anecdote  ?  " 

The  rector  started  with  that  sort  of  spasm  that  unobtrusive 
men  feel  when  first  accosted  familiarly  by  those  almost  stran- 
gers to  them, 

"Better  brandy  than  this  I  never  tasted,"  said  Lay  ton, 
now  filling  out  a  bumper,  while  his  hand  shook  so  much  that 
he  spilled  the  liquor  over  the  table;  "and,  as  Tom  Warren- 
dar  used  to  say,  as  he  who  gives  you  unpleasant  advice  is 
bound  in  honor  to  lend  you  money,  so  he  who  gives  you 
light  claret,  if  he  be  a  man  of  honor,  will  console  you  with 
old  brandy  afterwards ;  and  you  are  a  man  of  honor,  Millar, 
and  a  man  of  conscience,  and  so  is  our  colonel  here,  —  albeit 
nothing  remarkable  in  other  respects;  and  as  for  that  public 
servant,  as  he  likes  to  call  himself,  —  the  public  servant,  if 
I  must  be  candid,  —  the  public  servant  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  — "  Here  he  stretched  out  his  arm  to  its  full 
length,  to  give  by  the  gesture  greater  emphasis  to  what  he 
was  about  to  utter,  and  then  staring  half  wildly,  half  inso- 
lently around  him,  he  sank  down  heavily  into  a  deep  arm- 
chair, and  as  his  arms  dropped  listlessly  beside  him,  fell 
back  insensible. 

"I  will  say  that  I  never  felt  deeper  obligation  to  a  brandy- 
bottle  ;  it  is  the  first  enjoyable  moment  of  the  whole  even- 
ing," said  Ogden,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  tea-table. 

In  somewhat  less  than  half  an  hour  afterwards,  Layton 
awoke  with  a  sort  of  start,  and  looked  wildly  and  con- 
fusedly around  him.  What  or  how  much  he  remembered  of 
the  events  of  the  evening,  is  not  possible  to  say,  as,  with  a 
sudden  spring  to  his  feet,  he  took  his  hat,  and  with  a  short 
"good-night,"  left  the  house,  and  hurried  down  the  avenue. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE    LABORATORY. 

There  was  a  small  closet-like  room  in  Layton's  cottage 
which  he  had  fitted  up,  as  well  as  his  very  narrow  means 
permitted,  as  a  laboratory.  Everything  in  it  was,  of 
course,  of  the  very  humblest  kind;  soda-water  flasks  were 
fashioned  into  retorts,  and  even  blacking-jars  held  strange 
chemical  mixtures.  Here,  however,  he  spent  most  of  his 
time  in  the  search  of  some  ingredient  by  which  he  hoped  to 
arrest  the  progress  of  all  spasmodic  disease.  An  accidental 
benefit  he  had  himself  derived  from  a  certain  salt  of  ammo- 
nia had  suggested  the  inquiry,  and  for  years  back  this  had 
constituted  the  main  object  of  all  his  thoughts.  Deter- 
mined, if  his  discovery  were  to  prove  a  success,  it  should 
burst  upon  the  world  in  all  its  completeness,  he  had  never 
revealed  to  any  one  but  his  son  the  object  of  his  studies. 
Alfred,  indeed,  was  made  participator  of  his  hopes  and 
ambitions;  he  had  seen  all  the  steps  of  the  inquiry,  and 
understood  thoroughly  the  train  of  reasoning  on  which  the 
theory  was  based.  The  young  man's  patience  in  investiga- 
tion and  his  powers  of  calculation  were  of  immense  value  to 
his  father,  and  Lay  ton  deeply  regretted  the  absence  of  the 
one  sole  assistant  he  could  or  would  confide  in.  A  certain 
impatience,  partly  constitutional,  partly  from  habits  of 
intemperance,  had  indisposed  the  old  man  to  those  laborious 
calculations  by  which  chemical  discovery  is  so  frequently 
accompanied,  and  these  he  threw  upon  his  son,  who  never 
deemed  any  labor  too  great,  or  any  investigation  too  weari- 
some, if  it  should  save  his  father  some  part  of  his  daily 
fatigue.  It  was  not  for  months  after  Alfred's  departure  that 
La3'ton  could  re-enter  his  study,  and  resume  his  old  pursuits. 
The  want  of  the  companionship  that  cheered  him,  and  the 


90  ONE   OF   THEM. 

able  help  that  seconded  all  his  efforts,  had  so  damped  his 
ardor,  that  he  had,  if  not  abandoned  his  pursuit,  at  least 
deferred  its  prosecution  indefinitely.  At  last,  however,  by 
a  vigorous  effort,  he  resumed  his  old  labor,  and  in  the  inter- 
est of  his  search  he  soon  regained  much  of  his  former  ambi- 
tion for  success. 

The  investigations  of  chemistry  have  about  them  all  the 
fluctuating  fortunes  of  a  deep  and  subtle  game.  There  are 
the  same  vacillations  of  good  and  bad  luck ;  the  same  tides 
of  hope  and  fear ;  the  almost  certain  prospect  of  success 
dashed  and  darkened  by  failure ;  the  grief  and  disappoint- 
ment of  failure  dispelled  by  glimpses  of  bright  hope.  So 
many  are  the  disturbing  influences,  so  subtle  the  causes 
which  derange  experiment,  where  some  infinitesimal  excess 
or  deficiency,  some  minute  accession  of  heat  or  cold,  some 
chance  adulteration  in  this  or  that  ingredient,  can  vitiate  a 
whole  course  of  inquiry,  requiring  the  labor  of  weeks  to  be 
all  begun  again,  that  the  pursuit  at  length  assumes  many  of 
the  features  of  a  game,  and  a  game  only  to  be  won  by  secur- 
ing every  imaginable  condition  of  success. 

Perhaps  this  very  character  was  what  imparted  to  Layton's 
mind  one  of  the  most  stimulating  of  all  interests ;  at  all 
events,  he  addressed  himself  to  his  task  like  one  who,  baffled 
and  repulsed  as  he  might  be,  would  still  not  acknowledge 
defeat.  As  well  from  the  indefatigable  ardor  he  showed,  as 
from  the  occasional  bursts  of  boastful  triumph  in  anticipation 
of  a  great  success  in  store,  his  poor  ailing  wife  had  grown  to 
fancy  that  his  pursuit  was  something  akin  to  those  wonder- 
ful researches  after  the  elixir  vitse,  or  the  philosopher's 
stone.  She  knew  as  little  of  his  real  object  as  of  the  means 
he  employed  to  attain  it,  but  she  could  see  the  feverish 
eagerness  that  daily  gained  on  him,  mark  his  long  hours  of 
intense  thought,  his  days  of  labor,  his  nights  of  wakefulness, 
and  her  fears  were  that  these  studies  were  undermining  his 
strength  and  breaking  up  his  vigor. 

It  was,  then,  with  a  grateful  joy  at  her  heart  she  saw  him 
invited  to  the  Rectory,  —  admitted  once  more  to  the  world 
of  his  equals,  and  the  notice  of  society.  She  had  waited 
hour  by  hour  for  his  return  home,  and  it  was  already  day- 
break ere  she  heard  him  enter  the  cottage,  and  repair  to  his 


THE   LABORATORY. 


91 


own  room.  "Who  knows  what  deep  and  heartfelt  anxieties 
were  hers  as  she  sought  her  bed  at  last?  What  sorrowful 
forebodings  might  not  have  oppressed  her?  What  bitter 
tears  have  coursed  along  her  worn  cheeks?  for  his  step  was 
short  and  impatient  as  he  crossed  the  little  hall,  and  the 
heavy  slam  of  his  door,  and  the  harsh  grating  of  the  lock, 
told  that  he  was  ruffled  and  angry. 

The  morning  wore  on  heavily,  —  drearily  to  her,  as  she 


^^^^— ^— .--    „--    ^ 


watched  and  waited,  and  at  last  she  crept  noiselessly  to  the 
door,  and  tapped  at  it  gently. 

"  Who  's  there?     Come  in  !  "  cried  he,  roughly. 

"  I  came  only  to  ask  if  you  would  not  have  your  breakfast," 
said  she,  timidly.     "  It  is  already  near  eleven  o'clock." 

"  So  late,  Grace?  "  said  he,  with  a  more  kindly  accent,  as 
he  offered  her  a  seat.  "I  don't  well  know  how  the  time 
slipped  over ;  not  that  I  was  engaged  in  anytliing  that  in- 
terested me,  — I  do  not  believe  I  have  done  anything  what- 
ever, —  no,  nothing,"  muttered  he,  vaguely,  as  his  wearied 
eye  ranged  over  the  table. 


92  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  You  are  tii-ed  to-day,  Herbert,  and  you  need  rest,"  said 
she,  in  a  soft,  gentle  tone.      "  Let  this  be  a  holiday." 

"Mine  are  all  holidays  now,"  replied  he,  with  an  effort  at 
gayety.  Then  suddenly,  with  an  altered  voice,  he  added : 
"I  ought  never  to  have  gone  there  last  night,  Grace.  I 
knew  well  what  would  come  of  it.  I  have  no  habits,  no 
temper,  no  taste,  for  such  associates.  What  other  thoughts 
could  cross  me  as  I  sat  there,  sipping  their  claret,  than  of 
the  cold  poverty  that  awaited  me  at  home?  What  pleasure  to 
me  could  that  short  hour  of  festivity  be,  when  I  knew  and 
felt  I  must  come  back  to  this?  And  then,  the  misery,  the 
insult  of  that  state  of  watchfulness,  to  see  that  none  took 
liberties  with  me  on  the  score  of  my  humble  station." 

"  But  surely,  Herbert,  there  is  not  any  one  —  " 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  broke  he  in.  '■'■  He  who  wears  finer 
linen  than  you  is  often  a  terrible  tyrant,  on  no  higher  or 
better  ground.  If  any  man  has  been  taught  that  lesson,  1 
have !  The  world  has  one  easy  formula  for  its  guidance. 
If  you  be  poor,  you  must  be  either  incompetent  or  improvi- 
dent, or  both ;  your  patched  coat  and  shabby  hat  are 
vouchers  for  one  or  the  other,  and  sleek  success  does  not 
trouble  itself  to  ask  which." 

"  The  name  of  Herbert  La^ton  is  a  sure  guarantee  against 
such  depreciation,"  said  she,  in  a  voice  tremulous  with  pride 
and  emotion. 

"So  it  might,  if  it  had  not  earned  a  little  extra  notoriety 
in  police  courts,"  said  he,  with  a  laugh  of  intense  bitterness. 

"Tell  me  of  your  dinner  last  night,"  said  she,  eager  to 
withdraw  him  from  the  vein  she  ever  dreaded  most.  "Was 
your  party  a  pleasant  one  ?  " 

"  Pleasant !  —  no,  the  very  reverse  of  pleasant !  We  had 
discussion  instead  of  conversation,  and  in  lieu  of  those  slight 
differences  of  sentiment  which  flavor  talk,  we  had  stubborn 
contradictions.  All  wy  fault,  too,  Grace.  I  was  in  one  of 
my  unhappy  humors,  and  actually  forgot  I  was  a  dispensary 
doctor  and  in  the  presence  of  an  ex-Treasury  Lord,  with 
great  influence  and  high  acquaintances.  You  can  fancy, 
Grace,  how  boldly  I  dissented  from  all  he  said." 

"  But  if  you  were  in  the  right,  Herbert  —  " 

"  Which  is  exactly  what  I  was  not;    at  least,  I  was  quite 


THE  LABOllATORY.  93 

as  often  in  the  wrong.  My  amusement  was  derived  from  see- 
ing how  powerless  he  was  to  expose  the  fallacies  that  out- 
raged him.  He  was  stunned  by  a  fire  of  blank  cartridge,  and 
obliged  to  retreat  before  it.  But  now  that  it 's  all  over,  I  may 
find  the  amusement  a  costly  one.  And  then,  I  drank  too 
much  wine  —  "  She  gave  a  heavy  sigh,  and  turned  away  to 
hide  her  look.  "Yes,"  resumed  he,  with  a  fierce  bitterness 
in  his  tone,  "the  momentary  flush  of  self-esteem  —  Dutch 
courage,  though  it  be  —  is  a  marvellous  temptation  to  a  poor, 
beaten-down,  crushed  spirit,  and  wine  alone  can  give  it ;  and 
so  I  drank,  and  drank  on." 

"  But  not  to  excess,"  said  she,  in  a  half-broken  whisper. 

"  At  least  to  unconsciousness.  I  know  nothing  of  how  or 
when  I  quitted  the  Rectory,  nor  how  I  came  down  the  cliffs 
and  reached  this  in  safety.  The  path  is  dangerous  enough  at 
noonday  with  a  steady  head  and  a  cautious  foot,  and  yet  last 
night  assuredly  I  could  not  boast  of  either." 

Another  and  a  deeper  sigh  escaped  her,  despite  her  efforts 
to  stifle  it. 

"  Ay,  Grace,  the  doctor  was  right  when  he  said  to  me, 
'  Don't  go  there.'  How  well  if  I  had  but  taken  his  advice  ! 
I  am  no  longer  fit  for  such  associates.  They  live  lives  of 
easy  security,  —  they  have  not  the  cares  and  struggles  of  a 
daily  conflict  for  existence ;  we  meet,  therefore,  on  unequal 
grounds.  Their  sentiments  cost  them  no  more  care  than  the 
French  roll  upon  their  breakfast-table.  They  can  afford  to 
be  wrong  as  they  can  afford  debt,  but  the  poor  wretch  like 
myself,  a  bare  degree  above  starvation,  has  as  little  credit 
with  fine  folk  as  with  the  huckster.  I  ought  never  to  have 
gone  there!  Leave  me  now,"  added  he,  half  sternly ;"  let 
me  see  if  these  gases  and  essences  will  not  make  me  for- 
get humanity.  No,  I  do  not  care  for  breakfast,  — I  cannot 
eat !  " 

With  the  same  noiseless  step  she  had  entered,  she  now 
glided  softly  from  the  room,  closing  the  door  so  gently 
that  it  was  only  when  he  looked  round  that  he  was  aware 
of  being  alone.  For  a  moment  or  two  he  busied  himself 
with  the  objects  on  the  table ;  he  arranged  phials  and 
retorts,  he  lighted  his  stove,  he  stood  fanning  the  char- 
coal till  the  red  mass  glowed  brightly,  and  then,  as  though 


94  ONE   OF  THEM. 

forgetting  the  pursuit  he  was  engaged  in,  he  sat  down 
upon  a  chair,  and  sank  into  a  dreamy  revery. 

Another  low  tap  at  the  door  aroused  him  from  his  musings, 
and  the  low  voice  he  knew  so  well  gently  told  him  it  was  his 
morning  to  attend  the  dispensary,  a  distance  fully  three  miles 
off.  More  than  one  complaint  had  been  already  made  of  his 
irregularity  and  neglect,  and,  intending  to  pay  more  attention 
in  future,  he  had  charged  his  wife  to  keep  him  mindful  of  his 
duties. 

"You  will  scarcely  reach  Ballintray  before  one  o'clock, 
Herbert,"  said  she,  in  her  habitually  timid  tone. 

"  What  if  I  should  not  try?  What  if  I  throw  up  the  beg- 
garly office  at  once  ?  What  if  I  burst  through  this  slavery  of 
patrons  and  chau-men  and  boards  ?  Do  you  fancy  we  should 
starve,  Grace  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Herbert,"  cried  she,  eagerly ;  "  I  have  no  fears 
for  our  future." 

"  Then  your  courage  is  greater  than  mine,"  said  he, 
bitterly,  and  with  one  of  the  sudden  changes  of  humor 
which  often  marked  him.  "  Can't  you  anticipate  how  the 
world  would  pass  sentence  on  me,  the  idle  debauchee, 
who  would  not  earn  his  livelihood,  but  must  needs  forfeit 
his  subsistence  from  sheer  indolence?  —  ay,  and  the  world 
would  be  right  too.  He  who  breaks  stones  upon  the  high- 
road will  not  perform  his  task  the  better  because  he  can 
tell  the  chemical  constituent  of  every  fragment  beneath 
his  hammer.  Men  want  common  work  from  common  work- 
men, and  there  are  always  enough  to  be  found.  I  '11  set 
out  at  once." 

With  this  resolve,  uttered  in  a  tone  she  never  gainsaid  or 
replied  to,  he  took  his  hat  and  left  the  cottage. 

There  is  no  more  aggressive  spirit  than  that  of  the  man 
who,  with  the  full  consciousness  of  great  powers,  sees  him- 
self destined  to  fill  some  humble  and  insignificant  station, 
well  knowing  the  while  the  inferiority  of  those  who  have 
conquered  the  high  places  in  life.  Of  all  the  disqualifying 
elements  of  his  own  character,  his  unsteadiness,  his  want 
of  thrift,  perseverance,  or  conduct,  his  deficiency  in  tact  or 
due  courtesy,  his  stubborn  indifference  to  others,  —  of  all 
these  he  will  take  no  account  as  he  whispers  to  his  heart, 


THE   LABORATORY.  95 

"I  passed  that  fellow  at  school!  —  I  beat  this  one  at 
college !  —  how  often  have  I  helped  yonder  celebrity  with 
his  theme !  —  how  many  times  have  I  written  his  exercise 
for  that  great  dignitary  !  "  Oh,  what  a  deep  well  of  bitter- 
ness lies  in  the  nature  of  one  so  tried  and  tortured,  and 
how  cruel  is  the  war  that  he  at  last  wages  with  the  world, 
and,  worse  again,  with  his  own  heart ! 

Scarcely  noticing  the  salutations  of  the  country  people, 
as  they  touched  their  hats  to  him  on  the  road,  or  the  more 
familiar  addresses  of  the  better-to-do  farmers  as  they  passed, 
Layton  strode  onwards  to  the  little  village  where  his  dispen- 
sary stood. 

'' Yer  unco  late,  docther,  this  morning,"  said  one,  in  that 
rebukeful  tone  the  northern  Irishman  never  scruples  to 
employ  when  he  thinks  he  has  just  cause  of  complaint. 

"It's  na  the  way  to  heal  folk  to  keep  them  waitin'  twa 
hours  at  a  closed  door,"  said  another. 

"  I'se  warrant  he's  gleb  eneuch  to  call  for  his  siller  when 
it 's  due  to  him,"  said  a  third. 

"My  gran'raither  is  just  gane  hame ;  she  would  na  bide 
any  longer  for  yer  comin',"  said  a  pert-looking  girl,  with  a 
saucy  toss  of  her  head, 

"It's  na  honest  to  take  people's  money  and  gie  naething 
for  it,"  said  an  old  white-haired  man  on  crutches ;  "  and  I  '11 
just  bring  it  before  the  board." 

Layton  turned  an  angry  look  over  the  crowd,  but  never 
uttered  a  word.  Pride  alone  would  have  prevented  him 
from  answering  them,  had  he  not  the  deeper  motive  that 
in  his  conflict  with  himself  he  took  little  heed  of  what  they 
said. 

"Where's  the  key,  Sandy?"  cried  he,  impatiently,  to  an 
old  cripple  who  assisted  him  in  the  common  work  of  the 
dispensary. 

The  man  came  close  and  whispered  something  secretly  in 
his  ear. 

"  And  carried  the  key  away,  do  you  say?  "  asked  Layton, 
eagerly. 

"  Just  so,  sir.  There  was  anither  wi'  him,  —  a  stranger,  — 
and  he  was  mair  angry  than  his  rev'rance,  and  said,  '  What 
can  ye  expec'  ?  Is  it  like  that  a  man  o'  his  habits  could  be 
entrusted  with  such  a  charge  as  this?" 


96  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  And  Dr.  Millar  —  what  did  he  reply?  " 

"Na  much;  he  just  shook  his  head  this  way,  and  mut- 
tered, '  I  hoped  for  better,  —  I  hoped  for  better  ! '  I  diuna 
think  they  'd  have  taken  away  the  key,  but  that  old  Jonas 
Graham  kem  up  at  the  time,  and  said,  '  It 's  mair  than  a 
month  since  we  seen  him  '  —  yourself  he  meant  —  '  down 
here,  and  them  as  has  the  strength  for  it  would  rather  gae 
all  the  gait  to  Coleraine  than  tak  their  chance  o'  him.'  For 
a'  that,"  said  Sandy,  "  I  opened  the  dispensary  door,  and 
was  sarvin'  out  salts  and  the  like,  when  the  stranger  said, 
'  Is  it  to  a  cretur  like  that  the  people  are  to  trust  their 
health?  Just  turn  the  key  in  the  door,  Millar,  and  you'll 
certainly  save  some  one  from  being  poisoned  this  morning.' 
And  so  he  did,  and  here  we  are."  And  poor  Sandy  turned 
a  rueful  look  on  the  surrounders  as  he  finished. 

"I  can't  cure  you  as  kings  used  to  cure  the  evil,  long 
ago,  by  royal  touch,  good  people,"  said  Laytou,  mockingly; 
"  and  your  guardians,  or  governors,  or  whatever  they  call 
themselves,  have  shut  me  out  of  my  own  premises.  I  am  a 
priest  cut  off  from  his  temple." 

"I'm  na  come  here  to  ask  for  charity,"  said  a  stout  old 
fellow,  who  stood  alongside  of  a  shaggy  mountain  pony ; 
"  I  'm  able  to  pay  ye  for  a'  your  docther's  stuff,  and  your 
skill  besides." 

"  "Well  spoken,  and  like  a  man  of  independence,"  said 
Layton.  "Let  us  open  the  treaty  with  a  gill  of  brandy,  and 
you  shall  tell  me  your  case  while  I  am  sipping  it."  And 
with  these  words  he  led  the  way  into  a  public-house,  followed 
by  the  farmer,  leaving  the  crowd  to  disperse  when  and  how 
they  pleased. 

Whatever  the  nature  of  those  ailments  now  so  confiden- 
tially imparted,  they  were  long  enough  in  narration  not  only 
to  require  one,  or  two,  or  three  gills,  but  a  full  bottle  of 
strong  mountain  whiskey,  of  which  it  is  but  fair  to  say  the 
farmer  took  his  share.  Layton's  powers  as  a  talker  were 
not  long  in  exercise  ere  they  gained  their  due  influence  over 
his  companion.  Of  the  vei-y  themes  the  countryman  deemed 
his  own,  he  found  the  doctor  knew  far  more  than  himself; 
while  b}'  his  knowledge  of  life  and  human  nature  generally, 
he  surprised  his  listener,  who  actually  could  not  tear  himself 
away  from  one  so  full  of  anecdote  and  observation. 


THE  LABORATORY.  97 

Partly  warned  by  the  lateness  of  the  hour  —  for  already 
the  market  was  over  and  the  streets  deserted  —  and  partly 
by  the  thick  utterance  of  his  companion,  whose  heavy, 
bloodshot  eye  and  sullen  look  now  evidenced  how  deeply  he 
had  exceeded,  the  farmer  at  last  arose  to  go  away. 

"You're  not  'flitting,'  as  you  call  it  hereabouts,"  said 
Layton,  half  stupidly,  "you're  not  thinking  of  leaving  me 
alone  to  my  own  company,  are  you?  " 

"  I  maun  be  thinkin'  of  home  ;  it 's  more  than  twalve  miles 
o'  a  mountain  that 's  afore  me.  There 's  na  anither  but 
yoursel'  had  made  me  forget  it  a'  this  while,"  said  the 
farmer,  as  he  buttoned  his  coat  and  prepared  for  the  road. 
"Just  tell  me  now  what's  to  pay  for  the  bit  o'  writin'  ye 
gav'  me." 

"  You  've  had  a  consultation,  my  friend,  —  not  a  visit,  but 
a  regular  consultation.  You've  not  been  treated  like  the 
outer  populace,  and  only  heard  the  oracles  from  afar,  but 
you  have  been  suffered  to  sit  down  beside  the  augur,  to  ques- 
tion him,  and  to  drink  with  him.  Pay,  —  nothing  to  pay ! 
I  '11  cure  your  boy,  there  's  my  word  on  't.  These  cases  are 
specialities  with  me.  Bell  used  to  say,  '  Ask  Layton  to  look 
at  that  fellow  in  such  a  ward ;  he  's  the  only  one  of  us  under- 
stands this  sort  of  thing.  Layton  will  tell  us  all  about  it.' 
And  I  'm  Layton  !  Ay,  sir,  this  poor,  shabby,  ill-dressed 
fellow  that  you  see  before  you  is  that  same  Herbert  La3'ton ; 
so  much  for  brains  and  ability  to  work  a  man's  way  in  life  I 
Order  another  quart  of  Isla  whiskey,  man,  —  that 's  my  fee  ; 
at  least  it  shall  be  to-day.  Tell  them  to  send  me  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  and  not  disturb  me ;  tell  them,  besides  —  no, 
nevermind,  /'ll  tell  them  that!  And  now,  good-day,  my 
honest  fellow.  You  've  been  mij  physician  to-day  as  much 
as  /  have  been  yours.  You  have  cured  a  sick  heart  — 
cheated  it,  at  least  —  out  of  one  paroxysm,  and  so,  a  good 
journey,  and  safe  home  to  you.  Send  me  news  of  your  boy, 
and  good-bye."  And  his  head  dropped  as  he  spoke ;  his 
arms  fell  heavily  at  his  sides ;  and  he  appeared  to  have 
sunk  into  a  profound  sleep.  The  stupor  was  but  brief ;  the 
farmer  was  not  well  out  of  the  village  when  Layton,  calling 
for  a  basin  of  cold  water,  plunged  his  face  ancl  part  of  his 
head  in  it,  baring  his  brawny  throat,  and  bathing  it  with  the 
7 


98  ONE   OF  THEM. 

refreshing  liquid.  As  he  was  thus  employed,  he  caught 
sight  of  his  face  reflected  in  a  much-cracked  mirror  over  the 
fireplace,  and  stood  gazing  for  a  few  seconds  at  his  blotched 
and  bloated  countenance. 

"  A  year  or  two  left  still,  belike,"  muttered  he.  "Past 
insuring,  but  still  seaworthy,  or,  at  least "  —  and  here  his 
voice  assumed  an  intense  mockery  in  tone, — "at  least, 
capable  of  more  shipwreck !  "  The  sight  of  the  writing- 
materials  on  the  table  seemed  to  recall  him  to  something  he 
had  half  forgotten,  and,  after  a  pause  of  reflection,  he 
arranged  the  paper  before  him  and  sat  down  to  write. 

With  the  ease  of  one  to  whom  composition  was  familiar, 
he  dashed  off  a  somewhat  long  letter ;  but  though  he  wrote 
with  great  rapidity,  he  recurred  from  time  to  time  to  the 
whiskey-bottle,  drinking  the  strong  spirits  undiluted,  and,  to 
all  seeming,  unmoved  by  its  potency.  "  There,"  cried  he, 
as  he  finished,  "  I  have  scuttled  my  own  ship  ;  let's  see  what 
will  come  of  it." 

He  called  for  the  landlord  to  give  him  wax  and  a  seal. 
Neither  were  to  be  had,  and  he  was  fain  to  put  up  with  a 
wafer.  The  letter  closed  and  addressed,  he  set  out  home- 
wards ;  scarcely,  however,  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the 
village,  than  he  turned  away  from  the  coast  and  took  the 
road  towards  the  Rectory.  It  was  now  the  early  evening,  one 
of  those  brief  seasons  when  the  wind  lulls  and  a  sort  of  brief 
calm  supervenes  in  the  boisterous  climate  of  northern  Ire- 
land. Along  the  narrow  lane  he  trod,  tall  foxgloves  and 
variegated  ferns  grew  luxuriantly,  imparting  a  half-shade  to 
a  scene  usually  desolate  and  bare ;  and  Layton  lingered 
along  it  as  though  its  calm  seclusion  soothed  him.  At  last 
he  found  himself  at  a  low  wall,  over  which  a  stile  led  to  a 
little  woodland  path.  It  was  the  Rectory;  who  could  mis- 
take its  trim  neatness,  the  order  and  elegance  which  pervaded 
all  its  arrangements?  Taking  this  path,  he  walked  leisurely 
onward,  till  he  came  to  a  small  flower-garden,  into  which 
three  windows  opened,  their  sashes  reaching  to  the  ground. 
While  5'et  uncertain  whether  to  advance  or  retire,  he  heard 
Ogden's  sharp  voice  from  within  the  room.  His  tone  was 
loud,  and  had  the  vibration  of  one  speaking  in  anger. 
"Even  on  your   own    showing,  Millar,  another   reason  for 


THE   LABORATORY.  99 

getting  rid  of  him.  You  can't  be  ambitious,  I  take  it,  of 
newspaper  notoriety,  or  a  controversy  in  the  public  papers. 
Now,  Laytou  is  the  very  man  to  drag  you  into  such  a  conflict. 
Ask  for  no  explanations,  inquire  for  no  reasons,  but  dismiss 
him  by  an  act  of  your  board.  Your  colouel  there  is  the 
chairman;  he  could  n't  refuse  what  you  insist  upon,  and  the 
thing  will  be  done  without  your  prominence  in  it." 

jNIillar  murmured  a  reply,  but  Layton  turned  away  without 
listening  to  it,  and  made  for  the  hall  door.  "Give  this  to 
your  master,"  said  he,  handing  the  letter  to  the  servant,  and 
turned  away. 

The  last  flickerings  of  twilight  guided  him  down  the  steep 
path  of  the  cliff,  and,  wearied  and  tired,  he  reached  home. 

"What  a  wearisome  day  you  must  have  had,  Herbert!" 
said  his  wife,  as  she  stooped  for  the  hat  and  cane  he  had 
thrown  beside  him  on  sitting  down. 

"  I  mustn't  complain,  Grace,"  said  he,  with  a  sad  sort  of 
smile.     "It  is  the  last  of  such  fatigues." 

"  How,  or  what  do  you  mean?  "  asked  she,  eagerly. 

"I  have  given  it  up.  I  have  resigned  my  charge  of  the 
dispensary.  Don't  ask  any  reasons,  girl,"  broke  he  in, 
hastily,  "  for  I  scarcely  know  them  myself.  All  I  can  tell 
you  is,  it  is  done." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  were  right,  Herbert,"  began  she. 
' '  I  feel  assured  —  " 

"Do  you?  Then,  by  Heaven!  you  have  a  greater  confi- 
dence in  me  than  /  have  in  myself.  I  believe  I  was  more 
than  two  parts  drunk  when  I  did  it,  but  doubtless  the 
thought  will  sober  me  when  I  awake  to-morrow  morning; 
till  when,  I  do  not  mean  to  think  of  it." 

"You  have  not  eaten,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  cannot  eat  just  yet,  Grace;  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
leave  me.     I  shall  be  better  alone  for  a  while." 


CHAPTER  XT. 

A     REMITTANCE. 

*'A  LETTER,  —  a  long  letter  from  Alfred,"  said  Layton's 
wife,  as  she  knocked  at  his  door  on  the  following  morning. 
"  It  has  been  lying  for  four  days  at  the  office  in  Coleraiue. 
Only  think,  Herbert,  and  I  fretting  and  fretting  over  his 
silence." 

"Is  he  well?  "  asked  he,  half  gruffly. 

"  Quite  well,  and  so  happy ;  in  the  midst  of  kind  friends, 
and  enjoying  himself,  as  he  says  he  thought  impossible  when 
absent  from  his  home.  Pray  read  it,  Herbert.  It  will  do 
you  infinite  good  to  see  how  cheerfully  he  writes." 

"  No,  no;  it  is  enough  that  I  know  the  boy  is  well.  As 
to  being  happy,  it  is  the  affair  of  an  hour,  or  a  day,  with  the 
luckiest  of  us." 

"  There  are  so  many  kind  messages  to  you,  and  so  many 
anxious  inquiries  about  the  laboratory.  But  you  must  read 
them.  And  then  there  is  a  bank  order  he  insists  upon  your 
having.     Poor  fellow  !  the  first  money  he  has  ever  earned  —  " 

"  How  much  is  it,  Grace?"  asked  he,  eagerly. 

"  It  is  for  twenty  pounds,  Herbert,"  said  she,  in  a  falter- 
ing accent,  which,  even  weak  as  it  was,  vibrated  with  some- 
thing like  reproach. 

"  Never  could  it  be  more  welcome,"  said  he,  carelessly. 
"It  was  thoughtful,  too,  of  the  boy;  just  as  if  he  had 
known  all  that  lias  happened  here."  And  with  this  he 
opened  the  door,  taking  hurriedly  from  her  hand  the  letter 
and  the  money-order.  "  No;  not  this.  I  do  not  want  his 
letter,"  said  he,  handing  it  back  to  her,  while  he  muttered 
over  the  lines  of  the  bank  check.  "Why  did  he  not  say,  — 
or  order?"  said  he,  half  angrily.  "This  necessitates  my 
going  to  Coleraine  myself  to  receive  it.  It  seems  that  I  was 
overrating  his  thoughtfulness,  after  all." 


A  REMITTANCE.  101 

"Oh,  Herbert!"  said  she,  pressing  both  her  hands  over 
her  heart,  as  though  an  acute  pain  shot  through  it. 

"  I  meant  what  I  have  said,"  said  he,  roughly  ;  "he  might 
have  bethought  him  what  are  twelve  weary  miles  of  road  to 
one  like  me,  as  well  as  that  my  clothes  are  not  such  as  suit 
appearance  in  the  streets  of  a  town.  It  was  not  thoughtful 
of  him,  Grace." 

"  The  poor  dear  boy's  first  few  pounds ;  all  that  he  could 
call  his  own  —  " 

"  I  know  that,"  broke  he  in,  harshly ;  "  and  in  what  other 
way  could  they  have  afforded  him  a  tithe  of  the  pleasure  ?  It 
was  a  wise  selfishness  suggested  the  act ;  that  is  all  you  can 
say  of  it." 

"  Oh,  but  let  me  read  you  how  gracefully  and  delicately  he 
has  done  it,  Herbert ;  how  mindful  he  was  not  to  wound  one 
sentiment  —  " 

"'Pay  to  Herbert  Laytou,  Esquire,'"  read  he,  half 
aloud,  and  not  heeding  her  speech.  "He  ought  to  have 
added  '  M.  D.' ;  it  is  as  '  the  doctor  '  they  should  know  me 
down  here.  Well,  it  has  come  right  opportunely,  at  all 
events.  I  believe  I  was  the  owner  of  some  fifteen  shillings 
in  the  world." 

A  deep,  tremulous  sigh  was  all  her  answer. 

"  Fifteen  and  ninepeuce,"  muttered  he,  as  he  counted  over 
the  pieces  in  his  hand.  "  Great  must  be  the  self-reliance  of 
the  man  who,  with  such  a  sum  for  all  his  worldly  wealth, 
insults  his  patrons  and  resigns  his  office,  —  eh,  Grace?" 

There  was  in  his  tone  a  blended  mockery  and  seriousness 
that  he  often  used,  and  which,  by  the  impossibility  of  an- 
swering, always  distressed  her  greatly. 

"  It  is  clear  you  do  not  think  so,"  said  he,  harshly.  "  It 
is  evident  you  take  the  vulgar  view  of  the  incident,  and  con- 
demn the  act  as  one  dictated  by  ill  temper  and  mere  resent- 
ment. The  world  is  always  more  merciful  than  one's  own 
fireside,  and  the  world  will  justify  me." 

"  When  you  have  satisfied  your  own  conscience,  Her- 
bert —  " 

"  I'll  take  good  care  to  make  no  such  appeal,"  broke  he 
in.  "Besides,"  added  he,  with  a  bitter  levity,  "men  like 
myself   have  not   one,  but  fifty  consciences.     Their   after- 


102  ONE   OF   THEM. 

dinner  conscience  is  not  their  waking  one  next  morning ; 
their  conscience  in  the  turmoil  and  bustle  of  life  is  not  their 
conscience  as  they  lie  out  there  on  the  white  rocks,  listening 
to  the  lazy  plash  of  the  waves.  Not  to  say  that,  after  forty, 
every  man's  conscience  grows  casuistical,  —  somewhat  the 
worse  for  wear,  like  himself." 

It  was  one  of  Layton's  pastimes  to  sport  thus  with  the 
feelings  of  his  poor  wife,  uttering  at  random  sentiments  that 
he  well  knew  must  pain  her  deeply;  and  there  were  days 
when  this  spirit  of  annoyance  overbore  his  reason  and  mas- 
tered all  his  self-control. 

"What  pleasant  little  sketches  Alfred  gives  of  his  travel- 
ling acquaintances !  "  said  she,  opening  the  letter,  and  almost 
asking  to  be  invited  to  read  it. 

"These  things  have  no  value  from  one  as  untried  in  life 
as  he  is,"  broke  he  in,  rudely.  "One  only  learns  to  de- 
cipher character  by  the  time  the  world  has  become  very 
wearisome.  Does  he  tell  you  how  he  likes  his  task?  How 
does  he  fancy  bear-leading?" 

"He  praises  Lord  Agincourt  very  much.  He  calls  him  a 
fine,  generous  boy,  with  many  most  attaching  qualities." 

"They  are  nearly  all  such  in  that  class  in  very  early  life, 
but,  as  Swift  says,  the  world  is  full  of  promising  princes 
and  bad  kings." 

"Lord  Agincourt  would  appear  to  be  very  much  attached 
to  Alfred."^ 

"So  much  the  worse;  such  friendships  interfere  with  the 
work  of  tuition,  and  they  never  endure  after  it  is  over.  To 
be  sure,  now  and  then  a  tutor  is  remembered,  and  if  he  has 
shown  himself  discreet  about  his  pupil's  misdeeds,  reserved 
as  to  his  shortcomings,  and  only  moderately  rebukeful  as  to 
his  faults,  such  virtue  is  often  rewarded  with  a  bishopric. 
What  have  we  here,  Grace  ?  Is  not  that  a  row-boat  round- 
ing the  point  yonder,  and  heading  into  the  bay?" 

So  rare  an  event  might  well  have  caused  astonishment; 
for  since  the  place  had  been  deserted  by  the  fishermen,  the 
landlocked  waters  of  the  little  cove  had  never  seen  the  track 
of  a  boat. 

"Who  can  it  be?"  continued  he;  "I  see  a  round  hat  in 
the  stern-sheets.     Look,  he  is  pointing  where  they  are  to 


'A   REMITTANCE.  103 

land  him,  quite  close  to  our  door  here."  Stimulated  Dy  an 
irrepressible  curiosity,  Herbert  arose  and  walked  out;  but 
scarcely  had  he  reached  the  strand  when  he  was  met  by 
Colonel  Karstairs. 

"I  could  n't  trust  my  gouty  ankles  down  that  precipice, 
doctor,"  cried  he  out;  "and  although  anything  but  a  good 
sailor,  I  came  round  here  by  water.  What  a  charming  spot 
you  have  here,  when  one  does  reach  it!  " 

"It  is  prett}';  and  it  is  better,  —  it  is  solitary,"  said  La}'- 
ton,  coldly ;  for  somehow  he  could  not  avoid  connecting  the 
Colonel  with  a  scene  very  painful  to  his  memory. 

"I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  anything  more  beautiful,"  said 
Karstairs,  as  he  gazed  around  him.  "The  wild,  fantastic 
outlines  of  those  rocks,  the  variegated  colors  of  the  heath 
blossom,  the  golden  strand,  and  the  cottage  itself,  make  up 
a  fairy  scene." 

"Let  me  show  you  the  interior,  though  it  dispel  the  illu- 
sion," said  Lay  ton,  as  he  moved  towards  the  door. 

"I  hope  my  visit  is  not  inconvenient,"  said  Karstairs,  as 
he  entered  and  took  a  seat;  "and  I  hope,  besides,  when  you 
hear  the  object  of  it,  you  will,  at  least,  forgive  me."  He 
waited  for  a  reply  of  some  sort,  but  Layton  only  bowed  his 
head  stiffly,  and  suffered  him  to  continue:  "I  am  a  sorry 
diplomatist,  doctor,  and  have  not  the  vaguest  idea  of  how 
to  approach  a  point  of  any  difficulty;  but  what  brought  me 
here  this  morning  was  simply  this:  you  sent  that  letter"  — 
here  he  drew  one  from  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  Layton 
—  "to  our  friend  the  rector." 

"Yes;  it  is  my  hand,  and  I  left  it  m3^self  at  the  parson- 
age." 

"Well,  now,  Millar  has  shown  it  to  no  one  but  myself,  — 
indeed,  he  placed  it  in  my  hands  after  reading  it;  conse- 
quently, its  contents  are  unknown  save  to  our  two  selves; 
there  can,  therefore,  be  no  difficulty  in  your  withdrawing  it. 
You  must  see  that  the  terms  you  have  employed  towards  him 
are  not  such  as  —  are  not  civil,  I  mean ;  in  fact,  they  are  not 
fair.  He  is  an  excellent  fellow,  and  sincerely  your  friend, 
besides.  Now,  don't  let  a  bit  of  temper  get  the  mastery 
over  better  feeling,  nor  do  not,  out  of  a  momentary  pique, 
throw  up  your  appointment.     None  of  us,   nowadays,  can 


104  ONE   OF  THEM. 

afford  to  quarrel  with  his  bread-and-butter;  and  though  you 
are  certainly  clever  enough  and  skilful  enough  not  to  regard 
such  an  humble  place  as  this,  yet,  remember,  you  had  a 
score  of  competitors  when  you  looked  for  it.  Not  to  say 
that  we  all  only  desire  to  know  how  to  be  of  service  to  you, 
to  make  your  residence  amongst  us  agreeable,  and  —  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  you  can  understand  far  better 
than  I  can  say  it!  "  Nor,  to  do  the  worthy  Colonel  justice, 
was  this  a  very  difficult  matter,  seeing  that,  in  his  extreme 
confusion  and  embarrassment,  he  stammered  and  stuttered 
at  every  word,  while,  to  increase  his  difficulty,  the  manner 
of  Layton  was  cold  and  almost  stately. 

"Am  I  to  suppose,  sir,"  said  he,  at  length,  "that  you  are 
here  on  the  part  of  Dr.  Millar?  " 

"No,  no;  nothing  of  the  kind.  Millar  knows,  of  course, 
the  step  I  have  taken;  perhaps  he  concurs  in  it;  indeed, 
I  'm  sure  he  does.  He  is  your  sincere  well-wisher,  doctor, 
—  a  man  who  really  wants  to  be  your  friend." 

"Too  much  honor,"  said  Layton,  haughtily.  "Not  to  say 
how  arduous  the  task  of  him  who  would  protect  a  man 
against  himself;  and  such  I  opine  to  be  the  assumed  object 
here." 

"I  'm  sure,  if  I  had  as  much  as  suspected  how  you  would 
have  taken  my  interference,"  said  the  Colonel,  more  hurt 
by  Layton' s  tone  than  by  his  mere  words,  "I  'd  have  spared 
m^'self  my  mission." 

"You  had  no  right  to  have  anticipated  it,  sir.  It  was 
very  natural  for  you  to  augur  favorably  of  any  intervention 
by  a  colonel, — a  C.B.,  with  other  glorious  distinctions  — 
in  I'egard  to  a  poor  dispensary  doctor,  plodding  the  world 
wearily,  with  a  salary  less  than  a  butler's.  You  had  only 
to  look  down  the  cliff,  and  see  the  humble  cottage  where  he 
lived,  to  calculate  what  amount  of  resistance  could  such  a 
man  offer  to  any  proposal  that  promised  him  bread." 

"I  must  say,  I  wish  you  would  not  mistake  me,"  broke  in 
Karstairs,  with  warmth. 

"I  am  not  stating  anything  with  reference  to  you,  sir; 
only  with  respect  to  those  judgments  the  world  at  large 
would  pronounce  upon  me." 

"Am  I  to  conclude,  then,"  said  the  Colonel,  rising,  and 


'A   REMITTANCE.  105 

evidently  in  anger,  — "am  I  to  conclude,  then,  that  this  is 
your  deliberate  act,  that  you  wish  to  abide  by  this  letter, 
that  you  see  nothing  to  recall  nor  retract  in  its  contents  ?  " 

Layton  bowed  an  assent. 

"This  is  too  bad  —  too  bad,"  muttered  the  Colonel,  as  he 
fumbled  for  his  gloves,  and  dropped  them  twice  over  in  his 
confusion.  "I  know  well  enough  where  the  sting  lies:  you 
are  angry  with  Ogden ;  you  suspect  that  he  has  been  med- 
dling. Well,  it 's  no  affair  of  mine;  you  are  the  best  judge. 
Not  but  a  little  prudence  might  have  shown  you  that  Ogden 
was  a  dangerous  man  to  offend,  —  a  very  dangerous  man ; 
but  of  course  you  know  best.  I  have  only  to  ask  pardon  for 
obtruding  my  advice  unasked,  a  stupid  act  always,  but  I  'm 
right  sorry  for  it." 

"I  am  very  grateful  for  the  intention,  sir,"  said  Layton, 
with  dignity. 

"That 's  all  I  can  claim,"  muttered  the  Colonel,  whose 
confusion  increased  every  moment.  "It  was  a  fool's  errand, 
and  ends  as  it  ought.     Good-bye !  " 

Layton  arose  and  opened  the  door  with  a  respectful 
air. 

Karstairs  offered  his  hand,  and,  as  he  grasped  the  other's 
warmly,  said,  "I  wish  you  would  let  me  talk  this  over  with 
your  wife,  Layton." 

The  doctor  drew  haughtily  back,  and,  with  a  cold  stare  of 
astonishment,  said:  "1  have  addressed  you  by  your  title, 
sir;  /have  mine.  At  all  events,  there  is  nothing  in  your 
station  nor  in  my  own  to  warrant  this  familiarity." 

"You  are  quite  right, — perfectly  right, — and  I  ask 
pardon." 

It  was  a  liberty  never  to  be  repeated,  and  the  bronzed 
weatherbeaten  face  of  the  old  soldier  became  crimson  with 
shame  as  he  bowed  deeply  and  passed  out. 

Layton  walked  punctiliously  at  his  side  till  he  reached  the 
boat,  neither  uttering  a  word;  and  thus  they  parted.  Lay- 
ton  stood  for  a  moment  gazing  after  the  boat.  Perhaps  he 
thought  that  Karstairs  would  turn  his  head  again  towards 
the  shore;  perhaps  —  who  knows?  —  he  hoped  it.  At  all 
events,  the  old  Colonel  never  once  looked  back,  and  the  boat 
soon  rounded  the  point  and  was  lost  to  view. 


106  ONE   OF  THEM. 

There  are  men  so  combative  in  their  natures  that  their 
highest  enjoyment  is  derived  from  conflict  with  the  world, 
—  men  whose  self-esteem  is  never  developed  till  they  see 
themselves  attacking  or  attacked.  Lay  ton  was  one  of  this 
unhappy  number,  and  it  was  with  a  sort  of  bastard  heroism 
that  he  strolled  back  to  the  cottage,  proud  in  the  thought  of 
how  he  stood,  alone  and  friendless,  undeterred  by  the  enmity 
of  men  of  a  certain  influence  and  station. 

He  was  soon  in  his  laboratory  and  at  work,  the  reaction 
imparting  a  great  impulse  to  his  energy.  He  set  to  work 
with  unwonted  vigor  and  determination.  Chemical  inves- 
tigation has  its  good  and  evil  days, —  its  periods  when  all 
goes  well,  experiments  succeed,  tests  answer,  and  results 
respond  to  what  was  looked  for;  and  others  when  disturbing 
causes  intervene,  gases  escape,  and  retorts  smash.  This  was 
one  of  the  former;  and  the  subtle  essence  long  sought  after 
by  Layton,  so  eagerly  desired,  and  half  despaired  of,  seemed 
at  last  almost  within  reach.  A  certain  salt,  an  ingredient 
very  difficult  of  preparation,  was,  however,  wanting  to  his 
further  progress,  and  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  provide 
himself  with  it  ere  he  advanced  any  further.  To  obtain  this 
without  any  adulterating  admixture  and  in  all  purity  was 
essential  to  success;  and  he  determined  to  set  out  imme- 
diately for  Dublin,  where  he  could  himself  assist  in  its 
preparation. 

"What  good  luck  it  was,  Grace,"  said  he,  as  he  entered 
the  room  where  she  sat  awaiting  dinner  for  him, — "what 
good  luck  that  the  boy  should  have  sent  us  this  money!  I 
must  go  up  to  Dublin  to-morrow,  and  without  it  I  must  have 
given  up  the  journey." 

"To  Dublin!"  said  she,  in  a  half-frightened  voice,  for 
she  dreaded  —  not  without  reason  —  the  temptations  he 
would  be  exposed  to  when  accidentally  lifted  above  his 
usual  poverty. 

"Ay,  girl;  I  want  a  certain  '  cyanuret '  of  which  you  have 
never  heard,  nor  can  help  me  to  any  knowledge  of,  but 
which  a  Dublin  chemist  that  I  know  of  will  assist  me  to 
procure ;  and  with  this  salt  I  purpose  to  make  myself  a  name 
and  reputation  that  even  Mr.  Ogden  will  not  dare  to  dispute. 
I  shall,  I  hope,  have  discovered  what  will  render  disease 


'a  remittance.  107 

painless,  and  deprive  operation  of  all  its  old  terrors.  If 
my  calculations  be  just,  a  new  era  will  dawn  upon  medical 
science,  and  the  ph^-sician  come  to  the  sick  man  as  a  true 
comforter.  My  discovery,  too,  is  no  empyric  accident  for 
which  I  can  give  no  reason,  nor  assign  no  cause,  but  the 
result  of  patient  investigation,  based  upon  true  knowledge. 
My  appeal  will  be  to  the  men  of  science,  not  to  popular 
judgments.  I  ask  no  favor;  I  seek  no  patronage.  Herbert 
Layton  would  be  little  likely  to  find  either;  but  we  shall 
see  if  the  name  will  not  soar  above  both  favor  and  patron- 
age, and  rank  with  the  great  discoverers,  or,  better  again, 
with  the  great  benefactors  of  mankind." 

Vainglorious  and  presumptuous  as  this  speech  was,  — 
uttered,  too,  in  a  tone  boastful  as  the  words  themselves,  — 
it  was  the  mood  which  Layton' s  wife  loved  to  see  him  in- 
dulge. If  for  nothing  else  than  it  was  the  reverse  of  the 
sardonic  and  bitter  raillery  he  often  practised,  —  a  spirit  of 
scoff  in  which  he  inveighed  against  the  world  and  himself, 
—  it  possessed  for  her  an  indescribable  charm.  It  repre- 
sented her  husband,  besides,  in  what  she  loved  to  think 
his  true  character,  —  that  of  a  noble,  enthusiastic  man, 
eagerly  bent  upon  benefiting  his  fellows.  To  her  thinking, 
there  was  nothing  of  vanity,  —  no  overweening  conceit  in 
all  these  foreshadowings  of  future  fame;  nay,  if  anything, 
he  understated  the  claims  he  would  establish  upon  the  world's 
gratitude. 

With  what  eager  delight,  then,  did  she  listen!  how 
enchanting  were  the  rich  tones  of  his  voice  as  he  thus 
declaimed ! 

"How  it  cheers  my  heart,  Herbert,  when  I  hear  you  speak 
thus!  how  bright  everything  looks  when  you  throw  such 
sunlight  around  you!" 

"  'Is  this  the  debauchee, —  is  this  the  fellow  we  have  been 
reading  of  in  the  reports  from  Scotland  Yard  ?  '  methinks 
I  hear  them  whispering  to  each  other.  Ay,  and  that  haughty 
University,  ashamed  of  its  old  injustice,  will  stoop  to  share 
the  lustre  of  the  man  it  once  expelled." 

"Oh,  think  of  the  other  and  the  better  part  of  your 
triumph!"  cried  she,  eagerly. 

"The  best  part  of  all  will  be  the  vengeance  on  those  who 


108  ONE   OF  THEM. 

have  wronged  me.  What  will  these  calumniators  say  when 
it  is  a  nation  does  homage  to  my  success  ?  " 

"There  are  higher  and  better  rewards  than  such  feelings," 
said  she,  half  reproachfully. 

"How  little  you  know  of  it!  "  said  he,  in  his  tone  of  accus- 
tomed bitterness.  "The  really  high  and  great  rewards  of 
England  are  given  to  wealth,  to  political  intrigue,  to  legal 
success.  It 's  your  banker,  your  orator,  or  your  scheming 
barrister,  who  win  the  great  prizes  in  our  State  Lottery. 
Find  out  some  secret  by  which  life  can  be  restored  to  the 
drowned,  convert  au  atmosphere  of  pestilence  into  an  air  of 
health  and  vigor,  discover  how  an  avalanche  may  be  arrested 
in  its  fall,  and,  if  you  be  an  Englishman,  you  cau  do  nothing 
better  with  your  knowledge  than  sell  it  to  a  company,  and 
make  it  marketable  through  shareholders.  Philanthropy 
can  be  quoted  on  'Change  like  a  Welsh  tin-mine  or  a  patent 
fuel  compau}^;  and  if  you  could  raise  the  dead,  make  a 
'  limited  liability '  scheme  of  it  before  you  tell  the  world  your 
secret." 

"Oh,  Herbert,  it  was  not  thus  you  were  wont  to  speak." 

"No,  Grace,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  gentle,  sorrowful  mean- 
ing; "but  there  is  no  such  misanthrope  as  the  man  who 
despises  himself."  And  with  this  he  hastened  to  his  room 
and  locked  the  door.  It  was  while  carelessly  and  recklessly 
he  scattered  the  harsh  words  by  which  he  grieved  her  most 
that  he  now  and  then  struck  some  chord  that  vibrated  with 
a  pang  of  almost  anguish  within  him,  uttering  aloud  some 
speech  which  from  another  he  would  have  resented  with  a 
blow.  Still,  as  the  criminal  is  oftentimes  driven  to  confess 
the  guilt  whose  secret  burden  is  too  heavy  for  his  heart, 
preferring  even  the  execration  of  mankind  to  the  terrible 
isolation  of  secrecy,  so  did  he  feel  a  sort  of  melancholy 
satisfaction  in  discovering  how  humbly  and  meanly  he 
appeared  before  himself. 

"A  poor  man's  pack  is  soon  made,  Grace,"  said  he,  with 
a  sad  smile,  as  he  entered  the  room,  where  she  was  busily 
engaged  in  the  little  preparations  for  his  journey. 

"Tom,  don't  go!  don't  go!  don't!"  screamed  out  the 
parrot,  wildly. 

"Only  listen  to  the  creature,"  said  he;  "he  's  at  his  warn- 


A   REMITTANCE.  109 

ings  again.  I  wish  he  would  condescend  to  be  more  explan- 
atory and  less  oracular." 

She  only  smiled,  without  replying. 

"Not  but  he  was  right  once,  Grace,"  said  Lay  ton,  gravely. 
"You  remember  how  he  counselled  me  against  that  visit  to 
the  Rectory." 

"Don't!  don't!"  croaked  out  the  bird,  in  a  low,  guttural 
voice. 

"You  are  too  dictatorial,  doctor,  even  for  a  vice-provost. 
I  will  go." 

"All  wrong!  all  wrong!  "  croaked  the  parrot. 

"By  Jove!  he  has  half  shaken  my  resolution,"  said  Lay- 
ton,  as  he  sat  down  and  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow.  ''1 
wish  any  one  would  explain  to  me  why  it  is  that  he  who 
has  all  his  life  resented  advice  as  insult,  should  be  the  slave 
of  his  belief  in  omens."  This  was  uttered  in  a  half- 
soliloquy,  and  he  went  on:  "I  can  go  back  to  at  least  a 
dozen  events  wherein  I  have  had  to  rue  or  to  rejoice  in  this 
faith." 

"I  too  would  say.  Don't  go,  Herbert,"  said  she,  lan- 
guidly. 

"How  foolish  all  this  is!"  said  he,  rising;  "don't  you 
know  the  old  Spanish  proverb,  Grace,  '  Good  luck  often 
sends  us  a  message,  but  vei'y  rarely  calls  at  the  door  her- 
self ?  '  meaning  that  we  must  not  ask  Fortune  to  aid  us 
without  our  contributing  some  effort  of  our  own.  I  will  go, 
Grace.  Yes,  I  will  go.  No  more  auguries,  doctor,"  said 
he,  throwing  a  handkerchief  playfully  over  the  bird  and 
then  withdrawing  it,  —  a  measure  that  never  failed  to  en- 
force silence.  "This  time,  at  least,"  said  he,  "I  mean  to 
be  my  own  oracle." 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A    FELLOW-TRAVELLER    ON    THE    COACH. 

The  morning  was  raw,  cold,  and  uugenial,  as  Layton  took 
his  outside  seat  on  the  coach  for  Dublin.  For  sake  of  shel- 
ter, being  but  poorly  provided  against  ill  weather,  he  had 
taken  the  seat  behind  the  coachman,  the  place  beside  him 
being  reserved  for  a  traveller  who  was  to  be  taken  up  out- 
side the  town.  The  individual  in  question  was  alluded  to 
more  than  once  by  the  driver  and  the  guard  as  "  the  Cap- 
tain," and  in  the  abundance  of  fresh  hay  provided  for  his 
feet,  and  the  care  taken  to  keep  his  seat  dry,  there  were 
signs  of  a  certain  importance  being  attached  to  his  presence. 
As  they  gained  the  foot  of  a  hill,  where  the  road  crossed  a 
small  bridge,  they  found  the  stranger  awaiting  them,  with 
his  carpet-bag;  he  had  no  other  luggage,  but  in  his  own 
person  showed  unmistakable  evidence  of  being  well  prepared 
for  a  journey.  He  was  an  elderly  man,  short,  square,  and 
thick-set,  with  a  rosy,  cheerful  countenance,  and  a  bright, 
merry  eye.  As  he  took  off  his  hat,  punctiliously  returning 
the  coachee's  salute,  he  showed  a  round,  bald  head,  fringed 
around  the  base  by  a  curly  margin  of  rich  brown  hair.  So 
much  Layton  could  mark, —  all  signs,  as  he  read  them,  of  a 
jovial  temperament  and  a  healthy  constitution ;  nor  did  the 
few  words  he  uttered  detract  fi'om  the  impression :  they  were 
frank  and  cheerful,  and  their  tone  rich  and  pleasing  to  the 
ear. 

The  stranger's  first  care  on  ascending  to  his  place  was  to 
share  a  very  comfortable  rug  with  his  neighbor,  the  civility 
being  done  in  a  way  that  would  have  made  refusal  almost 
impossible;  his  next  move  was  to  inquire  if  Layton  was  a 
smoker,  and,  even  before  the  answer,  came  the  offer  of  a 
most  fragrant  cigar.     The  courtesy  of  the  offered  snuff-box 


A  FELLOW-TRAVELLER   ON  THE   COACH.  Ill 

amongst  our  grandfathers  is  now  replaced  by  the  polite 
proffer  'of  a  cigar,  and,  simple  as  the  act  of  attention  is  in 
itself,  there  are  some  men  who  are  perfect  masters  in  the 
performance.  The  Captain  was  of  this  category;  and  al- 
though Layton  was  a  cold,  proud,  off-standing  man,  such 
was  the  other's  tact,  that,  before  they  had  journeyed  twenty 
miles  in  company,  an  actual  intimacy  had  sprung  up  between 
them. 

There  is  no  pleasanter  companionship  to  the  studious  and 
reading  man  than  that  of  a  man  of  life  and  the  world,  one 
whose  experience,  drawn  entirely  from  the  actual  game  of 
life,  is  full  of  iucident  and  adventure.  The  Captain  had 
travelled  a  great  deal  and  seen  much,  and  there  was  about 
all  his  observations  the  stamp  of  a  mind  that  had  learned 
to  judge  men  and  things  by  broader,  wider  rules  than  are  the 
guides  of  those  who  live  in  more  narrow  spheres. 

It  was  in  discoursing  on  the  political  condition  of  Ireland 
that  they  reached  the  little  village  of  Cookstown,  about  a 
mile  from  which,  on  a  slight  eminence,  a  neat  cottage  was 
observable,  the  trim  laurel  hedge  that  separated  it  from  the 
road  being  remarkable  in  a  country  usually  deficient  in  such 
foliage. 

"A  pretty  spot,"  remarked  Layton,  carelessly,  "and,  to 
all  seeming,  untenanted." 

"Yes,  it  seems  empty,"  said  the  other,  in  the  same 
easy  tone. 

"There's  never  been  any  one  livin'  there.  Captain,  since 
that"  said  the  coachman,  turning  round  on  his  seat,  and 
addressing  the  stranger. 

"Since  what?"  asked  Layton,  abruptly. 

"He  is  alluding  to  an  old  story,  — a  very  old  story,  now," 
rejoined  the  other.  "There  were  two  men  —  a  father  and 
son  —  named  Shehan,  taken  from  that  cottage  in  the  year 
of  Emmet's  unhappy  rebellion,  under  a  charge  of  high 
treason,  and  hanged." 

"I  remember  the  affair  perfectly:  Curran  defended  them. 
If  I  remember  aright,  too,  they  were  convicted  on  the  evi- 
dence of  a  noted  informer." 

"The  circumstance  is  painfully  impressed  on  my  memory, 
by  the  fact  that  I   have  the  misfortune  to  bear  the  same 


112  ONE  OF  THEM. 

name ;  and  it  is  by  my  rank  alone  that  I  am  able  to  avoid 
being  mistaken  for  him.     My  name  is  Holmes." 

"To  be  sure,"  cried  Layton,  "Holmes  was  the  name; 
Curran  rendered   it  famous  on  that  day." 

The  coachman  had  turned  round  to  listen  to  this  conversa- 
tion, and  at  its  conclusion  touched  his  hat  to  the  Captain  as 
if  in  polite  acquiescence. 

By  the  time  they  had  reached  Castle  Blayney,  such  had 
been  the  Captain's  success  in  ingratiating  himself  into  Lay- 
ton's  good  opinion,  that  the  doctor  had  accepted  his  invita- 
tion to  dinner. 

"We  shall  not  dine  with  the  coach  travellers,"  whispered 
the  stranger,  "but  at  a  small  house  I  '11  show  you  just  close 
by.  I  have  already  ordered  my  cutlet  there,  and  there  will 
be  enough  for  us  both." 

Never  was  speech  less  boastful ;  a  most  admirable  hot 
dinner  was  ready  as  they  entered  the  little  parlor,  and  such 
a  bottle  of  port  as  Layton  fancied  he  had  never  tasted  the 
equal.  By  good  luck  there  was  ample  time  to  enjoy  these 
excellent  things,  as  the  mail  was  obliged  to  await  at  this 
place  for  an  hour  or  more  the  arrival  of  a  cross-post.  A 
second  and  a  third  brother  of  the  same  racy  vintage  suc- 
ceeded ;  and  Layton,  warmed  by  the  generous  wine,  grew 
open  and  confidential,  not  only  in  speaking  of  the  past,  but 
also  to  reveal  all  his  hopes  for  the  future,  and  the  object  of 
his  journey.  Though  the  Captain  was  nothing  less  than  a 
man  of  science,  he  could  fathom  sufficiently  the  details  the 
other  gave  to  see  that  the  speaker  was  no  ordinary  man,  and 
his  discovery  no  small  invention. 

"Ay,"  said  the  doctor,  as,  carried  away  by  the  excite- 
ment of  the  wine,  he  grew  boastful  and  vain,  "you  '11  see, 
sir,  that  the  man  who  sat  shivering  beside  you  on  the  out- 
side of  the  mail  without  a  great-coat  to  cover  him,  will,  one 
of  these  days,  be  recognized  as  amongst  the  first  of  his 
nation,  and  along  with  Hunter  and  Bell  and  Brodie  will 
stand  the  name  of  Herbert  Layton!  " 

"You  had  a  very  distinguished  namesake  once,  a  Fellow 
of  Trinity  — " 

"Myself,  sir,  none  other.  I  am  the  man!"  cried  he,  in 
a  burst  of  triumphant  pride.     "  I  am  —  that  is,  I  was  —  the 


A  FELLOW-'fRAVELLER   ON  THE   COACH.  113 

Regius  Professor  of  Medicine;  I  was  Gold  Medallist  in 
18 — ;  then  Chancellor's  Prizeman;  the  following  year  I  beat 
Stack  and  Naper,  — you  've  heard  of  thevi^  I  'm  sure,  on  the 
Fellowship  bench;  I  carried  away  the  Verse  prize  from 
George  Wolflfe;  and  now,  this  day,  —  ay,  sir,  this  day,  —  I 
don't  think  I  'd  have  eaten  if  you  had  not  asked  me  to  dine 
with  you." 

''Come,  come,"  said  the  Captain,  pushing  the  decanter 
towards  him,  "there  are  good  days  coming.  Even  in  a 
moneyed  point  of  view,  your  discovery  is  worth  some  fifteen 
or  twenty  thousand  pounds." 

"I  'd  not  sell  it  for  a  million;  it  shall  be  within  the  reach 
of  the  humblest  peasant  in  the  land  the  day  I  have  perfected 
the  details.  It  shall  be  for  Parliament  —  the  two  Houses  of 
the  nation  —  to  reward  me,  or  I  '11  never  accept  a  shilling." 

"That 's  a  very  noble  and  high-spirited  resolve.  I  like 
you  for  it;  I  respect  you  for  it,"  said  the  Captain,  warmly. 

"I  know  well  what  had  been  my  recognition  if  I  had  been 
born  a  German  or  a  Frenchman.  It  is  in  England  alone 
scientific  discovery  brings  neither  advancement  nor  honor. 
They  pension  the  informer  that  betrays  his  confederates, 
and  they  leave  the  man  of  intellect  to  die,  as  Chatterton 
died,  of  stai-vation  in  a  garret.     Isn't  that  true?" 

"Too  true, — too  true,  indeed!"  sighed  the  Captain, 
mournfully. 

"And  as  to  the  Ireland  of  long  ago,"  said  Layton,  "how 
much  more  wise  her  present-day  rulers  are  than  those  who 
governed  her  in  times  past,  and  whose  great  difficulty  was 
to  deal  with  a  dominant  class,  and  to  induce  them  to  abate 
any  of  the  pretensions  which  years  of  tried  loyalty  would 
seem  to  have  confirmed  into  rights!  I  speak  as  one  who 
was  once  a  '  United  Irishman,'  "  said  he. 

Laying  down  the  glass  he  was  raising  to  his  lips,  the 
Captain  leaned  across  the  table  and  grasped  Layton's  hand; 
and  although  there  was  nothing  in  the  gesture  which  a 
bystmder  could  have  noticed,  it  seemed  to  convey  a  secret 
signal,  for  Layton  cried  out  exultingly,  — 

"A  brother  in  the  cause!  " 

"You  may  believe  how  your  frank,  outspoken  nature  has 
won  upon  me,"  said  he,  "when  I  have  confided  to  you  a 


114  ONE   OF  THEM. 

secret  that  would,  if  revealed,  certainly  cost  me  ruy  com- 
mission, and  might  imperil  my  life;  but  I  will  do  more, 
Layton,  I  will  tell  you  that  our  fraternity  exists  in  full 
vigor,  — not  here,  but  thousands  of  miles  away,  — and  Eng- 
land will  have  to  reap  in  India  the  wrongs  she  has  sown  in 
Ireland." 

"With  this  I  have  no  sympathy,"  burst  in  Layton,  boldly. 
"Our  association  —  at  least,  as  I  understood  it  —  waste 
elevate  and  enfranchise  Ireland,  not  humiliate  England.  It 
was  well  enough  for  Wolfe  Tone  and  men  of  his  stamp  to 
take  this  view,  but  Nielson  and  myself  were  differently 
minded,  and  ice  deemed  that  the  empire  would  be  but  the 
greater  when  all  who  served  it  were  equals." 

Was  it  that  the  moment  was  propitious,  was  it  that  Lay- 
ton's  persuasive  power  was  at  its  highest,  was  it  that  the 
earnest  zeal  of  the  man  had  carried  conviction  with  his 
words?  However  it  happened,  the  Captain,  after  listening 
to  a  long  and  well-reasoned  statement,  leaned  his  head 
thoughtfully  on  his  hand,   and  said,  — 

"I  wish  I  had  known  you  in  earlier  days,  Layton.  You 
have  placed  these  things  before  me  in  a  point  I  have  never 
seen  them  before,  nor  do  1  believe  that  there  are  ten  men 
amongst  us  who  have.  Grant  me  a  favor,"  said  he,  as  if  a 
sudden  thought  had  just  crossed  him. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Layton. 

"Come  and  stay  a  week  or  two  with  me  at  my  little  cottage 
at  Glasnevin ;  I  am  a  bachelor,  and  live  that  sort  of  secluded 
life  that  will  leave  you  ample  time  for  your  own  pursuits." 

"  Give  me  a  corner  for  my  glass  bottles  and  a  furnace,  and 
I  'm  your  man,"  said  Layton,  laughingly. 

"You  shall  make  a  laboratory  of  anything  but  the  dinner- 
room,"  cried  Holmes,  shaking  hands  on  the  compact,  and 
thus  sealing  it. 

The  guard's  horn  soon  after  summoned  them  to  their 
places,  and  they  once  more  were  on  the  road. 

The  men  who  have  long  waged  a  hand-to-hand  combat 
with  fortune,  unfriended  and  uncheered,  experience  an 
intense  enjoyment  when  comes  the  moment  in  which  they 
can  pour  out  all  their  sorrows  and  their  selfishness  into  some 
confiding  ear.     It  is  no  ordinary  pleasure  with  them  to  taste 


A  FELLOW-TRAVELLER   ON   THE   COACH.  115 

the  sympathy  of  a  willing  listener.  Layton  felt  all  the 
ecstasy  of  such  a  moment,  and  he  told  not  alone  of  himself 
and  his  plans  and  his  hopes,  but  of  his  son  Alfred,  — 
what  high  gifts  the  youth  possessed,  and  how  certain  was 
he,  if  common  justice  should  be  but  accorded  to  him,  to  win 
a  great  place  in  the  world's  estimation. 

"The  Captain  "  was  an  eager  listener  to  all  the  other  said, 
and  never  interrupted,  save  to  throw  in  some  passing  word 
of  encouragement,  some  cheering  exhortation  to  bear  up 
bravely  and  courageously. 

Layton's  heart  warmed  with  the  words  of  encouragement, 
and  he  confided  many  a  secret  source  of  hope  that  he  had 
never  revealed  before.  He  told  how,  in  the  course  of  his 
labors,  many  an  unexpected  discovery  had  burst  upon  him, 
—  now  some  great  fact  applicable  to  the  smelting  of  metals, 
now  some  new  invention  available  to  agriculture.  They 
were  subjects,  he  owned,  he  had  not  pursued  to  any  perfect 
result,  but  briefly  committed  to  some  rough  notes,  reserving 
them  for  a  time  of  future  leisure. 

"And  if  I  cannot  convince  the  world,"  said  he,  laugh- 
ingly, "that  they  have  neglected  and  ignored  a  great  genius, 
I  hope,  at  least,  to  make  you  a  convert  to  that  opinion." 

"You  see  those  tall  elms  yonder?"  said  Holmes,  as  they 
drew  nigh  Dublin.  "Well,  screened  beneath  their  shade 
lies  the  little  cottage  1  have  told  you  about.  Quiet  and 
obscure  enough  now,  but  I  'm  greatly  mistaken  if  it  will  not 
one  day  be  remembered  as  the  spot  where  Herbert  Layton 
lived  when  he  brought  his  great  discovery  to  completion." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  cried  Layton,  with  a  swelling 
feeling  about  the  heart  as  though  it  would  burst  his  side. 
"Oh,  if  I  could  only  come  to  feel  that  hope  myself!  How 
it  would  repay  me  for  all  I  have  gone  through!  How  it 
would  reconcile  me  to  my  own  heart! " 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

HOW   THEY    LIVED    AT    THE    VILLA. 

The  Heathcotes  had  prolonged  their  stay  at  Marlia  a  full 
month  beyond  their  first  intention.  It  was  now  November, 
and  yet  they  felt  most  unwilling  to  leave  it.  To  be  sure,  it 
was  the  November  of  Italy  in  one  of  its  most  favored  spots. 
The  trees  had  scarcely  begun  to  shed  their  leaves,  and  were 
only  in  that  stage  of  golden  and  purple  transition  that  showed 
the  approach  of  winter.  The  grass  was  as  green,  and  the 
dog-roses  as  abundant,  as  in  May ;  indeed,  it  was  May  itself, 
only  wanting  the  fireflies  and  the  violets.  One  must  have 
felt  the  languor  of  an  Italian  summer,  with  its  closed-shutter 
existence,  its  long  days  of  reclusion,  without  exercise,  with- 
out prospect,  almost  without  light,  to  feel  the  intense  delight 
a  bright  month  of  November  can  bring,  with  its  pathways 
dry,  its  rivulets  clear,  its  skies  cloudless  and  blue,  —  to  be 
able  to  be  about  again,  to  take  a  fast  canter  or  a  brisk  walk, 
is  enjoyment  great  as  the  first  glow  of  convalescence  after 
sickness.  Never  are  the  olive-trees  more  silvery ;  never  does 
the  leafy  fig,  or  the  dark  foliage  of  the  orange,  contrast  so 
richly  with  its  golden  fruit.  To  enjoy  all  these  was  reason 
enough  why  the  Heathcotes  should  linger  there ;  at  least, 
they  said  that  was  their  reason,  and  they  believed  it.  Lay- 
ton,  with  his  pupil,  had  established  himself  in  the  little  city 
of  Lucca,  a  sort  of  deserted,  God-forgotten  old  place,  with 
tumble-down  palaces,  with  strange  iron  "  grilles  "  and  quaint 
old  armorial  shields  over  them ;  he  said  they  had  gone  there 
to  study,  and  he  believed  it. 

Mr.  O'Shea  was  still  a  denizen  of  the  Panini  Hotel  at  the 
Bagni,  —  from  choice,  he  said,  but  he  did  not  believe  it ;  the 
Morgans  had  gone  back  to  Wales ;  Mr.  Mosely  to  Bond 
Street;  and    Quackinboss   was   off   to  "do"  his   Etruscan 


HOW  THEY   LIVED  AT  THE   VILLA.  117 

cities,  the  "pottery,  and  the  rest  of  it;  "  and  so  were  they 
all  scattered,  Mrs.  Peuthony  Morris  and  Clara  being,  how- 
ever, still  at  the  villa,  only  waiting  for  letters  to  set  out 
for  Egypt.  Her  visit  had  been  prolonged  by  only  the  very 
greatest  persuasions.  "She  knew  well  ^  too  bitterly  did 
she  know  —  what  a  blank  would  life  become  to  her  when 
she  had  quitted  the  dear  villa."  "What  a  dreary  awaking 
was  in  store  for  them."  "  What  a  sad  reverse  to  poor  Clara's 
bright  picture  of  existence."  "The  dear  child  used  to  fancy 
it  could  be  all  like  this !  "  "  Better  meet  the  misery  at  once 
than  wait  till  they  could  not  find  strength  to  tear  themselves 
away."  Such-like  were  the  sentiments  uttered,  sometimes 
tearfully,  sometimes  in  a  sort  of  playful  sadness,  always  very 
gracefully,  by  the  softest  of  voices,  accompanied  by  the  most 
downcast  of  long-fringed  eyelids. 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  May  will  manage  to  live 
without  her,"  said  Charles,  who,  be  it  confessed,  was  think- 
ing far  more  of  his  own  sorrows  than  his  cousin's ;  while  he 
added,  in  a  tone  of  well-assumed  indifference,  "  We  shall  all 
miss  her !  " 

"  Miss  her,"  broke  in  Sir  William  ;  "  by  George  !  her  de- 
parture would  create  a  blank  in  the  society  of  a  city,  not  to 
speak  of  a  narrow  circle  in  a  remote  country-house."  As  for 
May  herself,  she  was  almost  heart-broken  at  the  thought  of 
separation.  It  was  not  alone  the  winning  graces  of  her 
manner,  and  the  numberless  captivations  she  possessed,  but 
that  she  had  really  such  a  "  knowledge  of  the  heart,"  she  had 
given  her  such  an  insight  into  her  own  nature,  that,  but  for 
her,  she  had  never  acquired  ;  and  poor  May  would  shudder 
at  the  thought  of  the  ignorance  with  which  she  had  been 
about  to  commence  the  voyage  of  life,  until  she  had  for- 
tunately chanced  upon  this  skilful  pilot.  But  for  Mrs. 
Morris  it  was  possible,  nay,  it  was  almost  certain,  she 
should  one  day  or  other  have  married  Charles  Heathcote, 
—  united  herself  to  one  in  everyway  unsuited  to  her,  "a 
good-tempered,  easy-natured,  indolent  creature,  with  no 
high  ambitions,  —  a  man  to  shoot  and  fish,  and  play  bil- 
liards, and  read  French  novels,  but  not  the  soaring  intel- 
lect, not  the  high  intelligence,  the  noble  ascendancy  of 
mind,  that  should  win  such  a  heart  as  yours.  May."    How 


118  ONE   OF   THEM. 

strauge  it  was  that  she  should  never  before  have  recog- 
nized in  Charles  all  the  blemishes  and  shortcomings  she 
now  detected  in  his  character !  How  singular  that  she  had 
never  remarked  how  selfish  he  was,  how  utterly  absorbed 
in  his  own  pursuits,  how  little  deference  he  had  for  the 
ways  or  wishes  of  others,  and  then,  how  abrupt,  almost  to 
rudeness,  his  manners!  To  be  sure,  part  of  this  careless 
and  easy  indifference  might  be  ascribed  to  a  certain  sense 
of  security;  "  he  knows  you  are  betrothed  to  him,  dearest; 
he  is  sure  you  must  one  day  be  his  wife,  or,  vei-y  probably, 
be  would  be  very  different,  —  more  of  an  ardent  suitor,  more 
eager  and  anxious  in  his  addresses.  Ah,  there  it  is !  men 
are  ever  so,  and  yet  they  expect  that  we  poor  creatures  are 
to  accept  that  half  fealty  as  a  full  homage,  and  be  content 
with  that  small  measure  of  affection  they  deign  to  accord  us  ! 
That  absurd  Will  has  done  it  all,  dear  child.  It  is  one  of 
those  contracts  men  make  on  parchment,  quite  forgetting 
that  there  are  such  things  as  human  affections.  You  must 
marry  him,  and  there's  an  end  of  it!" 

Now,  Charles,  on  his  side,  was  very  fond  of  his  cousin. 
If  he  wasn't  in  love  with  her,  it  was  because  he  did  n't  very 
well  understand  what  being  in  love  meant ;  he  had  a  notion, 
indeed,  that  it  implied  giving  up  hunting  and  coursing, 
having  no  dogs,  not  caring  for  the  Derby,  or  even  opening 
"  Punch  "  or  smoking  a  cigar.  Well,  he  could,  he  believed, 
submit  to  much,  perhaps  all,  of  these,  but  he  could  n't,  at 
least  he  did  n't  fancy  he  could,  be  "  spooney."  He  came  to 
Mrs.  Morris  with  confessions  of  this  kind,  and  she  under- 
took to  consider  his  case. 

Lastly,  there  was  Sir  William  to  consult  her  about  his  son 
and  his  ward.  He  saw  several  nice  and  difficult  points  in 
their  so-called  engagement  which  would  require  the  delicate 
hand  of  a  clever  woman  ;  and  where  could  he  find  one  more 
to  the  purpose  than  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris? 

With  a  skill  all  her  own,  she  contrived  to  have  confidential 
intercourse  almost  every  day  with  each  of  the  family.  If 
she  wished  to  see  Sir  William,  it  was  only  to  pretend  to 
write  a  letter,  or  look  for  some  volume  in  the  library,  and 
she  was  sure  to  meet  him.  May  was  always  in  her  own 
drawing-room,  or  the  flower-garden  adjoining  it ;  and  Charles 


HOW  THEY   LIVED   AT  THE   VILLA.  119 

passed  his  day  rambling  listlessly  about  the  stables  and  the 
farm-yard,  or  watching  the  peasants  at  their  work  beneath 
the  olive-trees.  To  aid  her  plans,  besides,  Clara  could 
always  be  despatched  to  occupy  and  engage  the  intention  of 
some  other.  Not  indeed,  that  Clara  was  as  she  used  to  be. 
Far  from  it.  The  merry,  light-hearted,  capricious  child,  with 
all  her  strange  and  wayward  ways,  was  changed  into  a 
thoughtful,  pensive  girl,  loving  to  be  alone  and  unnoticed. 
So  far  from  exhibiting  her  former  dislike  to  study,  she  was 
now  intensely  eager  for  it,  passing  whole  days  and  great 
part  of  the  night  at  her  books.  There  was  about  her  that 
purpose-like  intentness  that  showed  a  firm  resolve  to  learn. 
Nor  was  it  alone  in  this  desire  for  acquirement  that  she  was 
changed,  but  her  whole  temper  and  disposition  seemed 
altered.  She  had  grown  more  gentle  and  more  obedient. 
If  her  love  of  praise  was  not  less,  she  accepted  it  with  more 
graceful  modesty,  and  appeared  to  feel  it  rather  as  a  kind- 
ness than  an  acknowledged  debt.  The  whole  character  of 
her  looks,  too,  had  altered.  In  place  of  the  elfin  sprightliness 
of  her  ever-laughing  eyes,  their  expression  was  soft  even  to 
sadness ;  her  voice,  that  once  had  the  clear  ringing  of  a 
melodious  bell,  had  grown  low,  and  with  a  tender  sweetness 
that  gave  to  each  word  a  peculiar  grace. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  Clara?"  said  Sir  William,  as 
he  found  himself,  one  morning,  alone  with  Mrs.  Morris  in 
the  library.  "  She  never  sings  now,  and  she  does  not  seem 
the  same  happy  creature  she  used  to  be." 

"Can  you  not  detect  the  cause  of  this,  Sir  William?" 
said  her  mother,  with  a  strange  sparkle  in  her  eyes. 

"  I  protest  I  cannot.  It  is  not,  surely,  that  she  is  unhappy 
here?  " 

"  No,  no,  very  far  from  that." 

''  It  cannot  be  ill  health,  for  she  is  the  very  picture  of  the 
contrary." 

"  No,  no,"  said  her  mother  again. 

"  What  can  it  be?  " 

"  Say,  rather,  who?  "  broke  in  Mrs.  Morris,  "  and  I  '11  tell 
you." 

"  Who,  then?     Tell  me  by  all  means." 

"Mr.  Layton.     Yes,  Sir  William,  this  is  his  doing.     I 


120  ONE  OF  THEM. 

have  remarked  it  many  a  day  back.  You  are  aware,  of 
course,  how  sedulously  he  endeavors  to  make  himself  accep- 
table in  another  quarter  ?  " 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?  "What  quarter  ?  Surely  you  do 
not  allude  to  my  ward  ?  " 

"  You  certainly  do  not  intend  me  to  believe  that  you  have 
not  seen  this.  Sir  William?" 

"  I  declare  not  only  that  I  have  never  seen,  but  never 
so  much  as  suspected  it.  And  have  you  seen  it,  Mrs. 
Morris  ? " 

"  Ah !  Sir  William,  this  is  our  woman's  privilege,  though 
really  in  the  present  case  it  did  not  put  the  faculty  to  any 
severe  test." 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  made  no  reply,  and  then  said, 
"And  Charles — has  Charles  remarked  it?" 

"  I  really  cannot  tell  you.  His  manner  is  usually  so  easy 
and  indifferent  about  everything,  that,  whether  it  comes  of 
not  seeing  or  never  caring,  I  cannot  pretend  to  guess." 

"  I  asked  the  young  man  here,  because  he  was  with  Lord 
Agincourt,"  began  Sir  William,  who  was  most  eager  to  offer 
some  apologies  to  himself  for  any  supposed  indisci-etion. 
"  Agincourt's  guardian.  Lord  Sommerville,  and  myself  have 
had  some  unpleasant  passages  in  life,  and  I  wished  to  show 
the  boy  that  towards  him  I  bore  no  memory  of  the  ills  I 
received  from  his  uncle.  In  fact,  I  was  doubly  civil  and 
attentive  on  that  account ;  but  as  for  Mr.  Layton,  —  is  n't 
that  his  name?" 

"  Yes  ;  Alfred  Layton." 

"Layton  came  as  the  lad's  tutor, — nothing  more.  He 
appeared  a  pleasing,  inoffensive,  well-bred  young  fellow. 
But  surely,  Mrs.  Morris,  my  ward  has  given  him  no  en- 
couragement? " 

"Encouragement  is  a  strong  word,  Sir  William,"  said 
she,  smiling  archly ;  "I  believe  it  is  only  widows  who  give 
encouragement?" 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  hurriedly,  and  not  caring  to  smile, 
for  he  was  in  no  jesting  mood,  "  has  she  appeared  to  under- 
stand his  attentions?" 

"Even  young  ladies  make  no  mistakes  on  that  score," 
said  she,  in  the  same  bantering  tone. 


HOW  THEY  LIVED  AT  THE   VILLA.  121 

"And  I  never  to  see  it!  "  exclaimed  he,  as  he  walked 
hurriedly  to  and  fro.  "  But  I  ought  to  have  seen  it,  eh, 
Mrs.  Morris?  —  I  ought  to  have  seen  it.  I  ought,  at  least, 
to  have  suspected  that  these  fellows  are  always  on  the  look- 
out for  such  a  chance  as  this.  Now  I  suppose  you  '11  laugh 
at  me  for  the  confession,  but  my  attention  was  entirely  en- 
gaged by  watching  our  Irish  friend." 

"  The  great  O'Shea  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Morris,  laughing. 

"And  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  could  exactly  satisfy 
myself  whether  he  came  here  to  ogle  my  ward,  or  win 
Charley's  half-crowns  at  billiards." 

"  I  imagine,  if  you  asked  him,  he'd  say  he  was  in  for  the 
'  double  event,' "  said  she,  with  a  laugh. 

"  And,  then,  Mrs.  Morris,"  added  he,  with  a  sly  smile, 
"if  I  must  be  candid,  I  fancied,  or  thought  I  fancied,  his 
attentions  had  another  object." 

"Towards  me!"  said  she,  calmly,  but  in  an  accent  as 
honest,  as  frank,  and  as  free  from  all  concern  as  though 
speaking  of  a  third  person.  "Oh,  that  is  quite  true.  Mr. 
Layton  also  made  his  little  quiet  love  to  me  as  college  men 
do  it,  and  I  accepted  the  homage  of  both,  feeling  that  I  was 
a  sort  of  lightning-conductor  that  might  rescue  the  rest  of 
the  building." 

Sir  William  laughed  as  much  at  the  arch  quietness  of  her 
manner  as  her  words.  "  How  blind  I  have  been  all  this 
time !  "  burst  he  in,  angrily,  as  he  reverted  to  the  subject  of 
his  chagrin.  "I  suppose  there's  not  another  man  living 
would  not  have  seen  this  but  myself." 

"No,  no,"  said  she,  gently;  "men  are  never  nice  ob- 
servers in  these  matters." 

"  AVell,  better  late  than  never,  eh,  Mrs.  Morris?  Better 
to  know  it  even  now.  Forewarned,  — as  the  adage  says,  — 
eh?" 

In  these  little  broken  sentences  he  sought  to  comfort  him- 
self, while  he  angled  for  some  consolation  from  his  com- 
panion ;  but  she  gave  him  none, — not  a  word,  nor  a  look, 
nor  a  gesture. 

"Of  course  I  shall  forbid  him  the  house." 

"And  make  a  hero  of  him  from  that  moment,  and  a 
martyr  of  her,"  quietly  replied  she.     "By  such  a  measure 


122  ONE   OF   THEM. 

as  this  you  would  at  once  convert  what  may  be  possibly  a 
passing  flirtation  into  a  case  of  love." 

"So  that  I  am  to  leave  the  course  free,  and  give  him 
every  opportunity  to  prosecute  his  suit?" 

"  Not  exactly.  But  do  not  erect  barriers  just  high  enough 
to  be  surmounted.  Let  him  come  here  just  as  usual,  and  I 
will  try  if  I  cannot  entangle  him  in  a  little  serious  flirtation 
with  myself,  which  certainly,  if  it  succeed,  will  wound  May's 
pride,  and  cure  her  of  any  weakness  for  him." 

Sir  William  made  no  reply,  but  he  stared  at  the  speaker 
with  a  sort  of  humorous  astonishment,  and  somehow  her 
cheek  flushed  under  the  look. 

"These  are  womanish  artifices,  which  3'ou  men  hold 
cheaply,  of  course;  but  little  weapons  suit  little  wars,  Sir 
William,  and  such  are  our  campaigns.  At  all  events,  count 
upon  my  aid  till  Monday  next." 

' '  And  why  not  after  ?  " 

"  Because  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  packet  touches  at 
Malta  on  Saturday,  and  Clara  and  I  must  be  there  in  time 
to  catch  it." 

"Oh  no;  we  cannot  spare  you.  In  fact,  we  are  decided 
on  detaining  you.  May  would  break  up  house  here  and 
follow  you  to  the  Pyramids,  —  the  Upper  Cataracts,  —any- 
where, in  short.     But  leave  us  you  must  not." 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and  never 
spoke,  but  a  slight  motion  of  her  shoulders  showed  that  she 
was  sobbing.  "I  have  been  so  uncandid  with  you  all  this 
time,"  said  she,  in  broken  accents.  "  I  should  have  told 
you  all,  —  everything.  I  ought  to  have  confided  to  you  the 
whole  sad  story  of  my  terrible  bereavement  and  its  conse- 
quences;  but  I  could  not.  No,  Sir  William,  I  could  not 
endure  the  thought  of  darkening  the  sunshine  of  all  the  hap- 
piness I  saw  here  by  the  cloud  of  my  sorrows.  When  I 
only  saw  faces  of  joy  around  me,  I  said  to  my  heart,  '  What 
right  have  I,  in  my  selfishness,  to  obtrude  here? '  And  then, 
again,  I  bethought  me,  '  Would  they  admit  me  thus  freely 
to  their  hearth  and  home  if  they  knew  the  sad,  sad  story?' 
In  a  word,"  said  she,  throwing  down  the  handkerchief,  and 
turning  towards  him  with  soft  and  tearful  eyes,  "I  could 
not  risk  the  chance  of  losing  your  affection,  for  you  might 


HOW   THEY  LIVED   AT  THE   VILLA. 


123 


have  censured,  3'ou  might  have  thought  me  too  unforgiving, 
—  too  relentless  !  " 

Here  she  again  bent  down  her  head,  and  was  lost  in  an 
access  of  fresh  afflictions. 

Never  was  an  elderly  gentleman  more  puzzled  than  Sir 
William.  He  felt  that  he  ought  to  offer  consolation,  but  of 
what  nature  or  for  what  calamity  he  could  n't  even  guess. 
It  was  an  awkward  case  altogether,  and  he  never  fancied 


awkward  cases  at  any  time.  Then  he  had  that  unchivalric 
sentiment  that  elderly  gentlemen  occasionally  will  have,  —  a 
sort  of  half  distrust  of  "  injured  women."  This  was  joined 
to  a  sense  of  shame  that  it  was  usually  supposed  by  the 
world  men  of  his  time  of  life  were  always  the  ready  victims 
of  such  sympathies.  In  fact,  he  disliked  the  situation  im- 
mensely, and  could  only  muster  a  few  commonplace  remarks 
to  extricate  liimself  from  it. 

"You'll  let  me  tell  you  everything;  I  know  you  will," 
said  she,  looking  bewitchiugly  soft  and  tender  through  her 
tears. 


124  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Of  course  I  will,  my  dear  Mrs.  Morris,  but  not  now,  — 
not  to-day.     You  really  are  not  equal  to  it  at  this  moment." 

"True,  I  am  not !  "  said  she,  drying  her  eyes ;  "  but  it  is  a 
promise,  and  you  11  not  forget  it." 

"You  only  do  me  honor  in  the  confidence,"  said  he,  kiss- 
ing her  hand. 

"A  thousand  pardons !  "  cried  a  rich  brogue.  And  at  the 
same  moment  the  library  door  was  closed,  and  the  sound  of 
retreating  steps  was  heard  along  the  corridor. 

"  That  insufferable  O'Shea !  "  exclaimed  she.  "  What  will 
he  not  say  of  us  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    BILLIARD-ROOM. 

Mr.  O'Shea  had  a  very  happy  knack  at  billiards.  It  was 
an  accomplishment  which  had  stood  him  more  in  stead  in  life 
than  even  his  eloquence  in  the  House,  his  plausibility  in  the 
world,  or  his  rose-amethyst  ring.  That  adventurous  category 
of  mankind,  who  have,  as  Curran  phrased  it,  "  the  title- 
deeds  of  their  estates  under  the  crown  of  their  hats,"  must, 
out  of  sheer  necessity,  cultivate  their  natural  gifts  to  a 
higher  perfection  than  that  well-to-do,  easy-living  class  for 
whom  Fortune  has  provided  "  land  and  beeves,"  and  are 
obliged  to  educate  hand,  eye,  and  hearing  to  an  amount  of 
artistic  excellence  of  which  others  can  form  no  conception. 
Now,  just  as  the  well-trained  singer  can  modulate  his  tones, 
suiting  them  to  the  space  around  him,  or  as  the  orator  so 
pitches  his  voice  as  to  meet  the  ears  of  his  auditory,  without 
any  exaggerated  effort,  so  did  the  Member  for  Inch  measure 
out  his  skill,  meting  it  to  the  ability  of  his  adversary  with  a 
graduated  nicety  as  delicate  as  that  of  a  chemist  in  appor- 
tioning the  drops  of  a  precious  medicament. 

It  was  something  to  see  him  play.  There  was  a  sort  of 
lounging  elegance,  —  a  half  purpose-like  energy,  dashed  with 
indolence,  —  a  sense  of  power,  blended  with  indifference,  —  a 
something  that  bespoke  the  caprice  of  genius,  mingled  with 
a  spirit  that  seemed  to  whisper  that,  after  all,  "cannons" 
were  only  vanity,  and  "  hazards"  themselves  but  vexation  of 
spirit.  He  was,  though  a  little  past  his  best  years,  a  good- 
looking  fellow,  —  a  thought  too  pluffy,  perhaps,  and  more 
than  a  thought  too  swaggering  and  pretentious  ;  but  some- 
how these  same  attributes  did  not  detract  from  the  display 
of  certain  athletic  graces  of  which  the  game  admits,  for, 


126  ONE  OF  THEM. 

after  all,  it  was  only  Antinous  fallen  a  little  into  flesh,  and 
seen  in  his  waistcoat. 

It  was  mainly  to  this  accomplishment  he  owed  the  invita- 
tions he  received  to  the  villa.     Charles  Heathcote,  fully  con- 
vinced of  his  own  superiority  at  the  game,  was  piqued  and 
irritated   at   the   other's   success;    while    Sir   William  was, 
perhaps,  not  sorry  that  his  son  should  receive  a  slight  lesson 
on  the  score  of  his  self-esteem,  particularly  where  the  price 
should  not  be  too  costly.     The  billiard-room  thus  became 
each  evening  the  resort  of  all  in  the  villa.     Thither  May 
Leslie   fetched    her   work,    and    Mrs.    Morris    her    crochet 
needles,  and  Clara  her  book  ;  while  around  the  table  itself 
were  met  young  Heathcote,  Lord  Agincourt,  O'Shea,  and 
Layton.     Of  course  the  stake  they  played  for  was  a  mere 
trifle,  —  a  mere  nominal  prize,  rather  intended  to  record  vic- 
tory than   reward  the  victors,  —  just   as   certain  taxes  are 
maintained    more   for   statistics  than   revenue,  —  and  half- 
crowns  changed  hands  without  costing  the  loser  an  after- 
thought ;  so  at  least  the  spectators  understood,  and  all  but 
one  believed.     Her  quiet   and  practised   eye,  however,  de- 
tected in  Charles  Heathcote's  manner  something  more  sig- 
nificant than   the  hurt  pride  of   a  beaten   player,   and   saw 
under  all  the  external  show  of  O'Shea's  indifference  a  purpose- 
like energy,  little  likely  to  be  evoked  for  a  trifling  stake. 
Under  the  pretext  of  marking  the  game,  a  duty  for  which 
she  had  offered  her  services,  she  was  enabled  to  watch  what 
went  forward  without  attracting   peculiar   notice,   and    she 
£ould  perceive  how,  from  time  to  time,  Charles  and  O'Shea 
would  exchange  a  brief  word  as  they  passed,  —  sometimes  a 
monosyllable,  sometimes  a   nod,  —  and    at   such   times  the 
expression  of  Heathcote's  face  would   denote   an  increased 
anxiety  and  irritation.     It  was  while  thus  watching  one  even- 
ing, a  chance  phrase  she  overheard  confirmed  all  her  suspi- 
cions, — it  was  while  bending  down  her  head  to  show  some 
peculiar  stitch  to  May  Leslie  that  she   brought  her  ear  to 
catch  what  passed. 

"  This  makes  three  hundred,"  whispered  Charles. 

"  And  fifty,"  rejoined  O'Shea,  as  cautiously. 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  answered  Charles,  angrily. 

"  You  '11  find  I  'm  right,"  said  the  other,  knocking  the  balls 


THE   BILLIARD-ROOM.  127 

about  to  drown  the  words.  "  Are  you  for  another  game?" 
asked  he,  aloud. 

"  No ;  I  've  had  enough  of  it,"  said  Charles,  impatiently, 
as  he  drew  out  his  cigar-case,  —  trying  to  cover  his  irritation 
by  searching  for  a  cigar  to  his  liking. 

"  I  'm  your  man,  Inch-o'-brogue,"  broke  in  Agincourt ;  for 
it  was  by  this  impertinent  travesty  of  the  name  of  his 
borough  he  usually  called  him. 

''AVhat,  isn't  the  pocket-money  all  gone  yet?"  said  the 
other,  contemptuously. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  man.  Look  at  that,"  cried  he,  drawing 
forth  a  long  silk  purse,  plumply  filled.  ''  There  's  enough  to 
pay  off  the  mortgage  on  an  Irish  estate,  I  'm  sure !  " 

While  these  freedoms  were  being  interchanged,  Charles 
Heathcote  had  left  the  room,  and  strolled  out  into  the  gar- 
den. Mrs.  Morris,  affecting  to  go  in  search  of  something 
for  her  work,  took  occasion  also  to  go ;  but  no  sooner  had 
she  escaped  from  the  room  than  she  followed  him. 

Why^  was  it,  can  any  one  say,  that  May  Leslie  bestowed 
more  than  ordinary  attention  on  the  game  at  this  moment, 
evincing  an  interest  in  it  she  had  never  shown  before  ?  Mr. 
O'Shea  had  given  the  young  Marquis  immense  odds  ;  but  he 
went  further,  he  played  off  a  hundred  little  absurdities  to 
increase  the  other's  chances,  —  he  turned  his  back  to  the 
table,  —  he  played  with  his  left  hand,  —  he  poked  the  balls 
without  resting  his  cue,  —  he  displayed  the  most  marvellous 
dexterity,  accomplishing  hazards  that  seemed  altogether 
beyond  all  calculation  ;  for  all  crafty  and  subtle  as  he  was, 
vanity  had  got  the  mastery  over  him,  and  his  self-conceit 
rose  higher  and  higher  with  every  astonished  expression  of 
the  pretty  girl  who  watched  him.  While  May  could  not 
restrain  her  astonishment  at  his  skill,  O'Shea's  efforts  to  win 
her  praise  redoubled. 

"I'll  yield  to  no  man  in  a  game  of  address,"  said  he, 
boastfully  :  "to  ride  across  country,  to  pull  a  boat,  to  shoot, 
fish,  fence,  or  swim  —  There,  my  noble  Marquis,  drop  your 
tin  into  that  pocket  and  begin  another  game.  I  '11  give  you 
eighty-five  out  of  a  hundred." 

"Isn't  he  what  Quackinboss  would  call  a  'ternal  swag- 
gerer, May  ?  "  cried  Agincourt. 


128  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  He  is  a  most  brilliant  billiard-player,"  said  May,  smiling 
courteously,  with  a  glance  towards  the  recess  of  the  window, 
where  Lay  ton  was  leaning  over  Clara's  chair  and  reading  out 
of  the  book  she  held  in  her  hand.  "  How  I  wish  you  would 
give  me  some  lessons  !  "  added  she,  still  slyly  stealing  a  look 
at  the  window. 

"Charmed, — only  too  happy.  You  overwhelm  me  with 
the  honor.  Miss  Leslie,  and  my  name  is  not  O'Shea  if  I  do 
not  make  you  an  admirable  player,  for  I  've  remarked 
already  you  have  great  correctness  of  eye." 

"  Indeed!  " 

"  Astonishing  ;  and  with  that,  a  wonderfully  steady  hand." 

"  How  you  flatter  me  !  " 

"  Flatter?  Ah,  you  little  know  me.  Miss  Leslie  !  "  said  he, 
as  he  passed  before  her. 

May  blushed,  for  at  that  moment  Layton  had  lifted  his 
eyes  from  the  book  and  turned  them  full  upon  her.  So 
steadfastly  did  he  continue  to  look,  that  her  cheek  grew 
hotter  and  redder,  and  a  something  like  resentment  seemed 
to  possess  her ;  while  he,  as  though  suddenly  conscious  of 
having  in  some  degree  committed  himself,  held  down  his 
head  in  deep  confusion. 

May  Leslie  arose  from  her  seat,  and,  with  a  haughty 
toss  of  her  head,  drew  nigh  the  table. 

"Are  you  going  to  join  us.  May?"  cried  the  boy, 
merrily. 

"I'm  going  to  take  my  first  lesson,  if  Mr.  O'Shea  will 
permit  me,"  said  she;  but  the  tone  of  her  voice  vibrated 
less  with  pleasure  than  resentment. 

"I  'm  at  my  lessons,  too.  May,"  cried  Clara,  from  the 
window.     "Is  it  not  kind  of  him  to  help  me?  " 

"Most  kind,  — most  considerate!  "  said  May,  abruptly; 
and  then,  throwing  down  the  cue  on  the  table,  she  said,  "  I 
fancy  I  have  a  headache.  I  hope  you  '11  excuse  me  for  the 
present."  And  almost  ere  Mr.  O'Shea  could  answer,  she 
had  left  the  room.  Clara  speedily  followed  her,  and  for  a 
minute  or  two  not  a  word  was  uttered  by  the  others. 

"I  move  that  the  house  be  counted,"  cried  the  Member 
for  Inch.  "What  has  come  over  them  all  this  evening? 
Do  you  know,  Layton?" 


THE   BILLLVRD-ROOM.  129 

"Do  /know?  Know  what?"  cried  Alfred,  trying  to 
arouse  himself  out  of  a  revery. 

''Do  you  know  that  Inch-o'-brogue  has  not  left  me  five 
shillings  out  of  my  last  quarter's  allowance?  "  said  the  boy. 

"You  must  pay  for  your  education,  my  lad,"  said  O'Shea. 
"I  did  n't  get  mine  for  nothing.  Layton  there  can  teach  you 
longs  and  shorts,  to  scribble  nonsense-verses,  and  the  like; 
but  for  the  real  science  of  life,  '  how  to  do  them  as  has  done 
you,'  you  must  come  to  fellows  like  me." 

"Yes,  there  is  much  truth  in  that"  said  Layton,  who,  not 
having  heard  one  word  the  other  had  spoken,  corroborated 
all  of  it,  out  of  pure  distraction  of  mind. 

The  absurdity  was  too  strong  for  Agineourt  and  O'Shea, 
and  they  both  laughed  out.  "Come,"  said  O'Shea,  slap- 
ping Layton  on  the  shoulder,  "wake  up,  and  roll  the  l)alls 
about.  I  '11  play  you  your  own  game,  and  give  you  five- 
and- twenty  odds.     There  's  a  sporting  offer!  " 

"Make  it  to  me,"  broke  in  Agineourt. 

"So  I  would,  if  you  weren't  pumped  out,  my  noble 
Marquis. " 

"And  could  you  really  bring  yourself  to  win  a  boy's 
pocket-money,  — a  mere  boy?  "  said  Layton,  now  suddenly 
aroused  to  full  consciousness,  and  coming  so  close  to  O'Shea 
as  to  be  inaudible  to  the  other. 

"Smallest  contributions  thankfully  received,  is  my  motto," 
said  O'Shea.  "  Not  but,  as  a  matter  of  education,  the  youth 
has  gained  a  deuced  sight  more  from  me  than  you  !  " 

"The  reproach  is  just,"  said  Layton,  bitterly.  "I/iare 
neglected  my  trust,  —  grossly  neglected  it,  —  and  in  nothing 
more  than  suffering  him  to  keep  your  company." 

"Oh !  is  that  your  tone?  "  whispered  the  other,  still  lower. 
"Thank  your  stars  for  it,  you  never  met  a  man  more  ready 
to  humor  your  whim." 

"  What 's  the  '  Member  '  plotting?  "  said  Agineourt,  com- 
ing up  between  them.     "Do  let  vie.  into  the  plan." 

"It  is  something  he  wishes  to  speak  to  me  about  to- 
morrow at  eleven  o'clock,"  said  Layton,  with  a  significant 
look  at  O'Shea,  "and  which  is  a  matter  strictly  between 
ourselves." 

9 


130  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"All  right,"  said  Agincourt,  turning  back  to  the  table 
again,  while  O'Shea,  with  a  nod  of  assent,  left  the  room. 

"We  must  set  to  work  vigorously  to-morrow,  Henry,"  said 
Lay  ton,  laying  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder.  "You  have 
fallen  into  idle  ways,  and  the  fault  is  all  my  own.  For  both 
our  sakes,  then,  let  us  amend  it." 

"Whatever  you  like,  Alfred,"  said  the  boy,  turning  on 
him  a  look  of  real  affection;  "only  never  blame  yourself  if 
you  don't  make  a  genius  of  me.  I  was  always  a  stupid 
dog!" 

"You  are  a  true-hearted  English  boy,"  muttered  Lay  ton, 
half  to  himself,  "and  well  deserved  to  have  fallen  into  more 
careful  hands  than  mine.  Promise  me,  however,  all  your 
efforts  to  repair  the  past." 

"That  I  will,"  said  he,  grasping  the  other's  hand,  and 
shaking  it  in  token  of  his  pledge.  "But  I  still  think,"  said 
he,  in  a  slightly  broken  voice,  "they  might  have  made  a 
sailor  of  me;  they  '11  never  make  a  scholar!  " 

"We  must  get  away;  we  must  leave  this,"  said  Layton, 
speaking  half  to  himself. 

"I  'm  sorry  for  it,"  replied  the  boy.  "I  like  the  old  villa, 
and  I  like  Sir  William  and  Charley,  and  the  girls  too. 
Ay,  and  I  like  that  trout  stream  under  the  alders,  and  that 
jolly  bit  of  grass  land  where  we  have  just  put  up  the  hur- 
dles. I  say,  Layton,"  added  he,  with  a  sigh,  "I  wonder 
when  shall  we  be  as  happy  as  we  have  been  here?" 

"Who  knows?"  said  Layton,  sorrowfully. 

"I  'm  sure  /never  had  such  a  pleasant  time  of  it  in  my 
life.     Have  you?" 

"7.^  —  I  don't  know,  — that  is,  I  believe  not.  I  mean, 
never,"  stammered  out  Layton,  in  confusion. 

"Ha!  I  fancied  as  much.  I  thought  you  did  n't  like  it 
as  well  as  1  did." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Layton,  eagerly. 

"It  was  May  put  it  into  my  head  the  other  morning.  She 
said  it  was  downright  cruelty  to  make  you  come  out  and 
stop  here;  that  you  could  n't,  with  all  your  politeness,  con- 
ceal how  much  the  place  bored  you !  " 

"She  said  this?" 

"Yes;  and  she  added  that  if  it  were  not  for  Clara,  with 


THE   BILLIARD-ROOM.  131 

her  Germao  lessons  and  her  little  Venetian  barcarolles,  you 
would  have  been  driven  to  desperation." 

"But  you  could  have  told  her,  Heury,  that  I  delighted  in 
this  place;  that  I  never  had  passed  such  happy  days  as  here." 

"  I  did  think  so  wheu  we  knew  them  first,  but  latterly  it 
seemed  to  me  that  you  were  somehow  sadder  and  graver  than 
you  used  to  be.  You  didn't  like  to  ride  with  us;  you  sel- 
dom came  down  to  the  river;  you'd  pass  all  the  morning 
in  the  library;  and,  as  May  said,  you  only  seemed  happy 
when  you  were  giving  Clara  her  lesson  in  German." 

"And  to  whom  did  May  say  this?  " 

"To  me  and  to  Clara. 

"And  Clara,  —  did  she  make  any  answer?  " 

"Not  a  word.  She  got  very  pale,  and  seemed  as  though 
she  would  burst  out  a-cryiug.  Heaven  knows  why!  In- 
deed, I  'm  not  sure  the  tears  were  n't  in  her  eyes,  as  she 
hurried  away;  and  it  was  the  only  day  I  ever  saw  May 
Leslie  cross." 

"7  never  saw  her  so,"  said  Lay  ton,  half  rebukefully. 

"Then  you  didn't  see  her  on  that  day,  that's  certain! 
She  snubbed  Charley  about  his  riding,  and  wouldn't  suffer 
Mrs.  Morris  to  show  her  something  that  had  gone  wrong  in 
her  embroidery;  and  when  we  went  down  to  the  large 
drawing-room  to  rehearse  our  tableau,  —  that  scene  you 
wrote  for  us,  —  she  refused  to  take  a  part,  and  said,  '  Get 
Clara;  she  '11  do  it  better! '  " 

"And  it  was  thus  our  little  theatricals  fell  to  the  ground," 
said  Lay  ton,  musingly;  "and  I  never  so  much  as  suspected 
all  this !  " 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  hesitating  manner,  "I  be- 
lieve I  ought  not  to  have  told  you.  I  'm  sure  she  never  in- 
tended I  should ;  but  somehow,  after  our  tiff  —  " 

"And  did  you  quarrel  with  her?"  asked  Layton,  eagerly. 

"Not  quarrel,  exactly;  but  it  was  what  our  old  com- 
mander used  to  call  a  false-alarm  fire;  for  I  thought  her 
unjust  and  unfair  towards  you,  and  always  glad  when  she 
could  lay  something  or  other  to  your  charge,  and  I  said  so 
to  her  frankly." 

"And  she?  " 

"She  answered    me  roundly  enough.     '  When  you  are  a 


132  ONE   OF   THEM. 

little  older,  young  gentleman,'  said  she,  'you'll  begin  to 
discover  that  our  likings  and  dislikings  are  not  always 
under  our  own  control.'  She  tried  to  be  very  calm  and 
cool  as  she  said  it,  but  she  was  as  pale  as  if  going  to  faint 
before  she  finished." 

"She  said  truly,"  muttered  Layton  to  himself;  "our  im- 
pulses are  but  the  shadows  our  vices  or  virtues  throw  before 
them."  Then  laying  his  arm  on  the  boy's  shoulder,  he  led 
him  away,  to  plan  and  plot  out  a  future  course  of  study,  and 
repair  all  past  negligence  and  idleness. 

Ere  we  leave  this  scene,  let  us  follow  Mrs.  Morris,  who, 
having  quitted  the  house,  quickly  went  in  search  of  Charles 
Heathcote.  There  was  that  in  the  vexed  and  angry  look  of 
the  young  man,  as  he  left  the  room,  that  showed  her  how 
easy  it  would  be  in  such  a  moment  to  become  his  confi- 
dante. Through  the  traits  of  his  resentment  she  could  read 
an  impatience  that  could  soon  become  indiscretion.  "Let 
me  only  be  the  repository  of  any  secret  of  his  mind,"  mut- 
tered she,  —  "1  care  not  what,  —  and  I  ask  nothing  more. 
If  there  be  one  door  of  a  house  open,  —  be  it  the  smallest, 
—  it  is  enough  to  enter  by." 

She  had  not  to  go  far  in  her  search.  There  was  a  small 
raised  terrace  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  —  a  favorite  spot 
with  him,  —  and  thither  she  had  often  herself  repaired  to 
enjoy  the  secret  luxury  of  a  cigar;  for  Mrs.  Morris  smoked 
whenever  opportunity  permitted  that  indulgence  without 
the  hazard  of  forfeiting  the  good  opinion  of  such  as  might 
have  held  the  practice  in  disfavor.  Now,  Charles  Heath- 
cote was  the  only  confidant  of  this  weakness,  and  the  mys- 
tery, small  as  it  was,  had  served  to  establish  a  sort  of  bond 
between  them. 

"I  knew  I  should  find  you  here,"  said  she,  stealing  noise- 
lessly to  his  side,  as,  leaning  over  the  terrace,  he  stood  deep 
in  thought.     "Give  me  a  cigar." 

He  took  the  case  slowly  from  his  pocket,  and  held  it 
towards  her  in  silence. 

"How  vastly  polite!  Choose  one  for  me,  sir,"  said  she, 
pettishly. 

"They  're  all  alike,"  said  he,  carelessly,  as  he  drew  one 
from  the  number  and  offered  it. 


UNIVERSITY    ) 

V^C/\UFOH^^  THE   BILLIARD-ROOM.  133 


"And  now  a  light,"  said  she,  "for  1  see  yours  has  gone 
out,  without  your  knowing  it.  Pray  do  mind  what  you  're 
doing;  you've  let  the  match  fall  on  my  foot.  Look 
there !  " 

And  he  did  look,  and  saw  the  prettiest  foot  and  roundest 
ankle  that  ever  Parisian  coquetry  had  done  its  uttermost 
to  grace;  but  he  only  smiled  half  languidly,  and  said, 
"There's  no  mischief  done  —  to  either  of  us!"  the  last 
words  being  muttered  to  himself.  Her  sharp  ears,  how- 
ever, had  caught  them ;  and  had  he  looked  at  her  then,  he 
would  have  seen  her  face  a  deep  crimson.  "Is  the  play 
over?     Have  they  left  the  billiard-room?"  asked  he. 

"Of  course  it  is  over,"  said  she,  mockingly.  "  Sportsmen 
rarely  linger  in  the  preserves  where  there  is  no  game." 

"What  do  you  think  of  that  same  Mr.  O'Shea?  You 
rarely  mistake  people.  Tell  me  frankly  your  opinion  of 
him,"  said  he,  abruptly. 

"He  plays  billiards  far  better  than  you"  said  she,  dryly. 

"I  'm  not  talking  of  his  play,  I  'm  asking  what  you  think 
of  him." 

"He  's  your  master  at  whist,  eeart(5,  and  piquet.  I  think 
he  's  a  better  pistol  shot;  and  he  says  he  rides  better." 

"I  defy  him.  He  's  a  boastful,  conceited  fellow.  Take 
his  own  account,  and  j'ou  '11  not  find  his  equal  anywhere. 
But  still,  all  this  is  no  answer  to  my  question." 

"Yes,  but  it  is,  though.  "When  a  man  possesses  a  very 
wide  range  of  small  accomplishments  in  a  high  degree  of 
perfection,  I  always  take  it  for  granted  that  he  lives  by 
them." 

"Just  what  I  thought,  — exactly  what  I  suspected,"  broke 
he  in,  angrily.  "I  don't  know  how  we  ever  came  to  admit 
him  here,  as  we  have.  That  passion  May  has  for  opening 
the  doors  to  every  one  has  done  it  all." 

"If  people  will  have  a  menagerie,  they  must  make  up  their 
mind  to  meet  troublesome  animals  now  and  then,"  said  she, 
dryly. 

"And  then,"  resumed  he,  "the  absurdity  is,  if  I  say  one 
word,  the  reply  is,  '  Oh,  you  are  so  jealous ! '  " 

■'  Naturally  enough !  "  was  the  cool  remark. 

"Naturally  enough!     And  why  naturally  enough?     Is  it 


134  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  such  fellows  as  Lay  ton  or  O'Shea  I  should  think  of  being 
jealous? " 

"I  think  you  might,"  said  she,  gravely.  "They  are,  each 
of  them,  very  eager  to  succeed  in  that  about  which  you 
show  yourself  sutticiently  indifferent;  and  although  May  is 
certainly  bound  by  the  terms  of  her  father's  will,  there  are 
conditions  by  which  she  can  purchase  her  freedom." 

"Purchase  her  freedom!  And  is  that  the  way  she  regards 
her  position  ?  "  cried  he,  trembling  with  agitation. 

"Can  you  doubt  it?  Need  you  do  more  than  ask  yourself, 
How  do  you  look  on  your  own  case  ?  And  yet  you  are  not 
going  to  bestow  a  great  fortune.  I  'm  certain  that,  do  what 
you  will,  your  heart  tells  you  it  is  a  slave's  bargain." 

"Did  May  tell  you  so?"  said  he,  in  a  voice  thick  with 
passion. 

"No." 

"Did  she  ever  hint  as  much?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  believe  that  any  one  ever  dared  to  say  it?" 

"As  to  that,  I  can't  say;  the  world  is  very  daring,  and 
says  a  great  many  naughty  things  without  much  troubling 
itself  about  their  correctness." 

"It  may  spare  its  censure  on  the  present  occasion, 
then. " 

"Is  it  that  you  will  not  exact  her  compliance?  " 

"I  will  not." 

"How  well  I  read  you,"  cried  she,  catching  up  his  cold 
and  still  reluctant  hand  between  both  her  own ;  "  how  truly 
I  understood  your  noble,  generous  nature!  It  was  but  yes- 
terday I  was  writing  about  you  to  a  very  dear  friend,  who 
had  asked  me  when  the  marriage  was  to  take  place,  and  I 
said :  '  If  I  have  any  skill  in  deciphering  character,  I  should 
say,  Never.  Charles  Heathcote  is  not  the  man  to  live  a 
pensioner  on  a  wife's  rental;  he  is  far  more  likely  to  take 
service  again  as  a  soldier,  and  win  a  glorious  name  amongst 
those  who  are  now  reconquering  India.  His  daring  spirit 
chafes  against  the  inglorious  idleness  of  his  present  life, 
and  I  'd  not  wonder  any  morning  to  see  his  place  vacant 
at  the  breakfast-table,  and  to  hear  he  had  sailed  for 
Alexandria . '  " 


THE   BILLIAKD-ROOM.  135 

"You  do  me  a  fuller  justice  than  many  who  have  known 
me  longer,"  said  he,  pensively. 

"Because  I  read  you  more  carefully,  —  because  I  consid- 
ered you  without  any  disturbing  element  of  self-interest; 
and  if  I  was  now  and  then  angry  at  the  lethargic  indolence 
of  your  daily  life,  I  used  to  correct  myself  and  say,  '  Be 
patient;  his  time  is  coming;  and  when  the  hour  has  once 
struck  for  him,  he  '11  dally  no  longer!  '  " 

"And  my  poor  father  —  " 

"Say,  rather,  your  proud  father,  for  he  is  the  man  to 
appreciate  your  noble  resolution,  and  feel  proud  of  his  son." 

"But  to  leave  him  —  to  desert  him  —  " 

"It  is  no  eternal  separation.  In  a  year  or  two  you  will 
rejoin  him,  never  to  part  again.  Take  my  word  for  it,  the 
consciousness  that  his  sou  is  accomplishing  a  high  duty  will 
be  a  strong  fund  of  consolation  for  absence.  It  is  to  mis- 
take him  to  suppose  that  he  could  look  on  your  present  life 
without  deep  regret." 

"Ah!  is  that  so?"  cried  he,  with  an  expression  of  pain. 

"He  has  never  owned  as  much  to  me;  but  I  have  read  it 
in  him,  just  as  I  have  read  in  yoii  that  you  are  not  the  man 
to  stoop  to  an  ignominious  position  to  purchase  a  life  of 
ease  and  luxury." 

"You  were  right  there! "  said  he,  warmly. 

"Of  course  I  was.     I  could  not  be  mistaken." 

"You  shall  not  be,  at  all  events,"  said  he,  hurriedly. 
"How  cold  your  hand  is!  Let  us  return  to  the  house." 
And  they  walked  back  in  silence  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MRS.     PENTHONY    MORRIS    AT    HER    WRITING-TABLE. 

It  was  late  on  that  same  night,  —  very  late.  The  villa  was 
all  quiet  and  noiseless  as  Mrs.  Morris  sat  at  her  writing- 
table,  engaged  in  a  very  long  letter.  The  epistle  does  not 
in  any  way  enter  into  our  story.  It  was  to  her  father,  in 
reply  to  one  she  had  just  received  from  him,  and  solely 
referred  to  little  family  details  with  which  our  reader  can 
have  no  interest,  save  in  a  passing  reference  to  a  character 
already  before  him,  and  of  whom  she  thus  wrote :  — 

"  And  so  your  alchemist  turns  out  to  be  the  father  of  my  admirer, 
Mr.  Alfred  Layton.  I  can  sincerely  say  your  part  of  the  family  is 
the  more  profitable,  for  I  should  find  it  a  very  difficult  problem  to 
make  five  hundred  pounds  out  of  mine  !  Nor  can  I  sufficiently  ad- 
mire the  tact  with  which  you  rescued  even  so  much  from  such  a 
wreck !  I  esteem  your  cleverness  the  more,  since  —  shall  I  confess 
it,  dear  papa?  —  I  thought  that  the  man  of  acids  and  alkalies  would 
turn  out  to  be  the  i-ogue  and  you  the  dupe  !  Let  me  hasten,  there- 
fore, to  make  the  amende  honorable,  and  compliment  you  on  your 
new  character  of  chemist. 

"  In  your  choice,  too,  of  the  mode  of  disembarrassing  yourself  of 
his  company,  you  showed  an  admirable  wisdom  ;  and  you  very  justly 
observe,  these  are  not  times  when  giving  a  dog  a  bad  name  will  save 
the  trouble  of  hanging  him,  otherwise  an  exposure  of  his  treasonable 
principles  might  have  sufficed.  Far  better  was  the  method  you 
selected,  while,  by  making  him  out  to  be  mad,  you  make  yourself  ont 
to  be  benevolent.  You  have  caught,  besides,  a  very  popular  turn  of 
the  public  mind  at  a  lucky  conjuncture.  There  is  quite  a  vogue  just 
now  for  shutting  up  one's  mother-in-law,  or  one's  wife,  or  any  other 
disagreeable  domestic  ingredient,  on  the  plea  of  insanity ;  and  a  very 
clever  physician,  with  what  is  cahed  'an  ingenious  turn  of  mind,' 
will  find  either  madness  or  arsenic  in  any  given  substance.  You 
will,  however,  do  wisely  to  come  abroad,  for  the  day  will  come  of  a 


MRS.  PENTHONY  MORRIS  AT  HER  WRITING-TABLE.      137 

reaction,  and  '  the  lock-up '  system  will  be  converted  into  the  '  let- 
loose,'  and  a  sort  of  doomsday  arrive  when  one  will  be  confronted 
with  very  unwelcome  ac(^uaintances." 

As  she  had  written  thus  far,  a  very  gentle  voice  at  her 
door  whispered,  "May  I  come  in,  dearest?" 

"Oh,  darling,  is  it  you?"  cried  Mrs.  Morris,  throwing  a 
sheet  of  paper  over  her  half- written  epistle.  "1  was  just 
writing  about  you.  My  sweet  May,  I  have  a  dear  old  god- 
mother down  in  Devonshire  who  loves  to  hear  of  those  who 
love  me ;  and  it  is  such  a  pleasure,  besides,  to  write  about 
those  who  are  happy." 

"And  you  call  me  one  of  them,  do  you?"  said  the  girl, 
with  a  deep  sigh. 

"I  call  you  one  who  has  more  of  what  makes  up  happiness 
than  any  I  have  ever  known.  You  are  very  beautiful,  — 
nay,  no  blushing,  it  is  a  woman  says  it;  so  handsome,  May, 
that  it  is  downright  shame  of  Fortune  to  have  made  you 
rich  too.  You  should  have  been  left  to  your  beauty,  as 
other  people  are  left  to  their  great  connections,  or  their 
talents,  or  their  Three  per  Cents;  and  then  you  are  sur- 
rounded by  those  who  love  you,  May,  —  a  very  commendable 
thing  in  a  world  which  has  its  share  of  disagreeable  people; 
and,  lastly,  to  enjoy  all  these  fair  gifts,  you  have  got 
youth." 

"I  shall  be  nineteen  on  the  fourth  of  next  month,  Lucy," 
said  the  other,  gravely;  "and  it  was  just  about  that  very 
circumstance  that  I  came  to  speak  to  you." 

Mrs.  Morris  knew  thoroughly  well  what  the  speech  por- 
tended, but  she  looked  all  innocence  and  inquiry. 

"You  are  aware,  Lucy,  what  my  coming  of  age  brings 
with  it?"  said  the  girl,  half  pettishly. 

'•That  you  become  a  great  millionnaire,  dearest,  —  a  sort 
of  female  Rothschild,  with  funds  and  stocks  in  every  land 
of  the  earth." 

"  I  was  not  speaking  of  money.  I  was  alluding  to  the 
necessity  of  deciding  as  to  my  own  fate  in  life.  I  told  you 
that  by  my  father's  will  I  am  bound  to  declare  that  I  accept 
or  reject  Charles  Heathcote  within  six  months  after  my 
coming  of  age." 


138  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"I  do  not,  I  confess,  see  anything  very  trying  in  that, 
May.  I  eonchide  that  you  know  enough  of  your  own  mind 
to  say  whether  you  like  him  or  not.  You  are  not  strangers 
to  each  other.     You  have  been  domesticated  together  —  " 

"  That 's  the  very  difficulty,"  broke  in  May.  "  There  has 
been  intimacy  between  us,  but  nothing  like  affection,  — 
familiarity  enough,  but  no  fondness." 

"  Perhaps  that 's  not  so  bad  a  feature  as  you  deem  it," 
said  the  other,  dryly.  "  Such  a  tame,  table-land  prospect 
before  marriage  may  all  the  better  prepare  you  for  the  dull 
uniformity  of  wedded  life." 

May  gave  a  slight  sigh,  and  was  silent,  while  the  other 
continued,  — 

"  Being  very  rich,  dearest,  is,  of  course,  a  great  resource, 
for  you  can,  by  the  mere  indulgence  of  your  daily  caprices, 
give  yourself  a  sort  of  occupation,  and  a  kind  of  interest  in 
life." 

May  sighed  again,  and  more  heavily. 

"  I  know  this  is  not  what  one  dreams  of,  my  dear  May," 
resumed  she,  "  and  I  can  well  imagine  how  reluctant  you  are 
to  seek  happiness  in  toy  terriers  or  diamond  earrings ;  but 
remember  what  I  told  you  once  before  was  the  great  lesson 
the  world  taught  us,  that  every  joy  we  compass  in  this  life 
is  paid  for  dearly,  in  some  shape  or  other,  and  that  the  sys- 
tem is  one  great  scheme  of  compensations,  the  only  wisdom 
being,  to  be  sure  you  have  got  at  last  what  you  have  paid 
for." 

"  I  remember  your  having  said  that,"  said  May,  thought- 
fully. 

"Yes;  it  was  in  correction  of  a  great  mistake  you  had 
made,  May,  when  you  were  deploring  the  fate  of  some  one 
who  had  contracted  an  unequal  marriage.  It  was  then  that 
I  ventured  to  tell  you  that  what  the  world  calls  a  misalliance 
is  the  one  sure  throw  for  a  happy  union." 

"  But  you  did  n't  convince  me  !  "  said  May,  hastily. 

"  Possibly  not.  I  could  not  expect  you  to  look  on  life 
from  the  same  sad  eminence  I  have  climbed  to ;  still  I  think 
you  understood  me  when  I  showed  you  that  as  air  and 
sunlight  are  blessings  which  we  enjoy  without  an  effort,  so 
affection,  gained  without  sacrifice,  elicits  no  high  sense  of 


MRS.  PENTHONY  MORRIS  AT  HER  WRITING-TABLE.      139 

self-esteem,  —  uone  of  that  self-love  which  is  but  the  reflex 
of  real  love." 

"  Charles  would,  then,  according  to  your  theory,  be  emi- 
nently happy  in  marrying  me^  for,  to  all  appearance,  the 
sacrifice  would  be  considerable,"  said  May,  with  a  half-bitter 
laugh. 

'■'•My  theory  only  applies  to  vs^  dear  May;  as  for  men, 
they  marry  from  a  variety  of  motives,  all  prompted  by  some 
one  or  other  feature  of  their  selfishness  :  this  one  for  fortune, 
that  for  family  influence,  the  other  because  he  wants  a  home, 
and  so  on." 

"  And  not  for  love  at  all?  "  broke  in  May. 

"  Alas !  dearest,  the  man  who  affords  himself  the  pleasure 
of  being  in  love  is  almost  always  unable  to  indulge  in  any 
other  luxury.  It  is  your  tutor  creature,  there,  like  Layton, 
falls  in  love  !  " 

May  smiled,  and  turned  away  her  head ;  but  the  crimson 
flush  of  her  cheek  soon  spread  over  her  neck,  and  Mrs. 
Morris  saw  it. 

"Yes,"  resumed  she,  as  if  reflecting  aloud,  "love  is  the 
one  sole  dissipation  of  these  student  men,  and,  so  to  say,  it 
runs  through  the  dull-colored  woof  of  their  whole  after-life, 
like  a  single  gold  thread  glittering  here  and  there  at  long 
intervals,  and  it  gives  them  those  dreamy  fits  of  imaginative 
bliss  which  their  quiet  helpmates  trustfully  ascribe  to  some 
intellectual  triumph.  And  it  is  in  these  the  poor  curate  for- 
gets his  sermon,  and  the  village  doctor  his  patient,  thinking 
of  some  moss-rose  he  had  plucked  long  ago  !  " 

"  Do  you  believe  that.  Loo?"  asked  the  girl,  eagerly. 

"  I  know  it,  dear ;  and  what 's  more,  it  is  these  very  men 
are  the  best  of  husbands,  the  kindest  and  the  tenderest. 
The  perfume  of  an  early  love  keeps  the  heart  pure  for  many 
a  long  year  after.     Let  us  take  Layton,   for  instance." 

"  But  why  Mr.  Layton?     What  do  we  know  about  him?" 

"  Not  much,  certainly;  but  enough  to  illustrate  our  mean- 
ing.    It  is  quite  clear  he  is  desperately  in  love." 

"  With  whom,  pray?  "  asked  May.  And  her  face  became 
crimson  as  she  spoke. 

"  With  a  young  lady  who  cannot  speak  of  him  without 
blushing,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  calmly ;  and  continued :   "  At 


140  ONE  OF  THEM. 

first  sight  it  does  seem  a  very  cruel  thing  to  inspire  such  a 
man  with  a  hopeless  passion,  yet,  on  second  thought,  we  see 
what  a  sti-eam  of  sunlight  this  early  memory  will  throw  over 
the  whole  bleak  landscape  of  his  after-life.  You  are  his  tor- 
ture now,  but  you  will  be  his  benefactor  in  many  a  dark  hour 
of  the  dreary  pilgrimage  before  him.  There  will  be  touches 
of  tenderness  in  that  ode  he  '11  send  to  the  magazine ;  there 
will  be  little  spots  of  sweet  melancholy  in  that  village  story ; 
men  will  never  know  whence  they  found  their  way  into  the 
curate's  heart.  How  little  aware  are  they  that  there 's  a 
corner  there  for  old  memories,  embalmed  amongst  holier 
thoughts,  —  a  withered  rose-leaf  between  the  pages  of  a 
prayer-book ! " 

May  again  sighed,  and  with  a  tremor  in  the  cadence  that  was 
almost  a  sob. 

"  So  that,"  resumed  the  other,  in  a  more  flippant  voice, 
"  you  can  forgive  yourself  for  your  present  cruelty,  by 
thinking  of  all  the  benefits  you  are  to  bestow  hereafter, 
and  all  this  without  robbing  your  rightful  lord  of  one 
affection,  one  solitarj'  emotion,  he  has  just  claim  to.  And 
that,  my  sweet  May,  is  more  than  you  can  do  with  your 
worldly  wealth,  for,  against  every  check  you  send  your 
banker,  the  cashier's  book  will  retain  the  record." 

"  You  only  confuse  me  with  all  this,"  said  May,  pettishly. 
"  I  came  for  counsel." 

"  And  I  have  given  you  more,  —  I  have  given  you  consola- 
tion.    I  wish  any  one  would  be  as  generous  with  me!  " 

"  Oh,  you  are  not  angry  with  me !  "  cried  the  girl,  ear- 
nestly. 

"Angry!  no,  dearest,  a  passing  moment  of  selfish  regret 
is  not  anger,  but  it  is  of  ?/o?<,  not  of  me,  I  would  speak  ;  tell 
me  everything.     Has  Charles  spoken  to  you?  " 

"  Not  a  word.  It  may  be  indifference,  or  it  may  be  that, 
in  a  sense  of  security  about  the  future,  he  does  not  care  to 
trouble  himself." 

"  Nay,  scarcely  that,"  said  the  other,  thoughtfully. 

"  Whatever  the  cause,  you  will  own  it  is  not  very  flattering 
to  me"  said  she,  flushing  deeply. 

"And  Mr.  Lay  ton,  —  is  he  possessed  of  the  same  calm 
philosophy?   Has  he  the  same  trustful  reliance  on  destiny?" 


MRS.  PENTHONY  MORRIS  AT  HER  WRITING-TABLE.      141 

said  Mrs.  Morris,  who,  apparently  examining  the  hxee  border 
of  her  handkerchief,  yet  stole  a  passing  glance  at  the  other's 
face. 

"  How  can  you  ask  such  a  question?  What  is  lie  to  me,  or 
I  to  him  ?  If  he  ever  thought  of  me,  besides,  he  must  have 
remembered  that  the  difference  of  station  between  us  presents 
an  insurmountable  objection." 

"  As  if  Love  asked  for  anything  better,"  cried  Mrs.  Morris, 
laughingly.  "Why,  dearest,  the  passion  thrives  on  insur- 
mountable objections,  just  the  way  certain  fish  swallow 
stones,  not  for  nutriment,  but  to  aid  digestion  by  a  diffi- 
culty. If  he  be  the  man  I  take  him  for,  he  must  hug  an 
obstacle  to  his  heart  as  a  Heaven-sent  gift.  Be  frank 
with  me.  May,"  said  she,  passing  her  arm  affectionately 
round  her  waist;  "confess  honestly  that  he  told  you  as 
much." 

'•  No;  he  never  said  that,"  muttered  she,  half  reluctantly. 
"What  he  said  was  that  if  disparity  of  condition  was  the 
only  barrier  between  us,  —  if  he  were  sure,  or  if  he  could 
even  hope,  that  worldly  success  could  open  an  avenue  to 
my  heart  —  " 

"  That  he'd  go  and  be  Prime  Minister  of  England  next 
session. 

'  If  doughty  deeds 
My  lady  please  ! ' 

That  was  his  tone,  was  it?  Oh  dear !  and  I  fancied  the 
man  had  something  new  or  original  about  him.  Truth  is, 
dearest,  it  is  in  love  as  in  war,  —  there  are  nothing  but  the 
same  old  weapons  to  fight  with,  and  we  are  lost  or  won  just 
as  our  great-great-grandmothers  were  before  us." 

"  I  wish  you  would  be  serious,  Lucy,"  said  the  girl,  half 
rebukefuUy. 

"  Don't  you  know  me  well  enough  by  this  time  to  per- 
ceive that  I  am  never  more  thoughtful  than  in  what  seems 
my  levity?  and  this  on  principle,  too,  for  in  the  difficulties 
of  life  Fancy  will  occasionally  suggest  a  remedy  Reason 
had  never  hit  upon,  just  as  sportsmen  will  tell  you  that  a 
wild,  untrained  spaniel  will  often  flush  a  bird  a  more  trained 
dog  had  never  '  marked.'     And   now,  to  be  most  serious, 


142  ONE  OF  THEM. 

you  want  to  choose  between  the  eligible  man  who  is  sure 
of  you,  and  the  most  unequal  suitor  who  despairs  of  his 
success.     Is  not  that  your  case  ?  " 

May  shook  her  head  dissentingly. 

"  AVell,  it  is  sufficiently  near  the  issue  for  our  purpose. 
Not  so?  Come,  then,  I'll  put  it  differently.  You  are  bal- 
ancing whether  to  refuse  your  fortune  to  Charles  Heath- 
cote  or  yourself  to  Alfred  Layton ;  and  my  advice  is, 
do  both." 

May  grew  very  pale,  and,  after  an  effort  to  say  something, 
was  silent. 

"  Yes,  dearest,  between  the  man  who  never  pledges  to  pay 
and  him  who  offers  a  bad  promissory  note,  there  is  scant 
choice,  and  I  'd  say,  take  neither." 

"  I  know  how  it  will  wound  my  dear  old  guardian,  who 
loves  me  like  a  daughter,"  began  May.  But  the  other 
broke  in,  — 

"Oh!  there  are  scores  of  things  one  can  do  in  life  to 
oblige  one's  friends,  but  marriage  is  not  one  of  them. 
And  then,  bethink  you,  May,  how  little  you  have  seen  of 
the  world ;  and  surely  there  is  a  wider  choice  before  you 
than  between  a  wearied  lounger  on  half-pay  and  a  poor 
tutor." 

"Yes;  a  poor  tutor  if  you  will,  but  of  a  name  and  family 
the  equal  of  my  own,"  said  May,  hastily,  and  with  a  dash 
of  temper  in  the  words. 

"Who  says  so?     Who  has  told  you  that?  " 

"He  himself.  He  told  me  that  though  there  were  some 
painful  circumstances  in  his  family  history  he  would  rather 
not  enter  upon,  that,  in  point  of  station,  he  yielded  to 
none  in  the  rank  of  untitled  gentry.  He  spoke  of  his  father 
as  a  man  of  the  very  highest  powers." 

"Did  he  tell  you  what  station  he  occupied  at  this 
moment?" 

"No.     And  do  you  know  it?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  gravely. 

"Will  you  not  tell  me,  Lucy?"  asked  May,  eagerly. 

"  No ;  there  is  not  any  reason  that  I  should.  You  have 
just  said,  '  What  is  Mr.  Layton  to  me,  or  I  to  him  ?  '  and  in 
the  face  of  such  a  confession  why  should  I  disparage  him?" 


MRS.  PENTHONY  MORRIS  AT  HER  WRITING-TABLE.      143 

"So,  then,  the  confession  would  disparage  him?" 

"It  might." 

"This  reserve  is  not  very  generous  towards  me,  I  must 
say,"  said  the  girl,  passionately. 

"It  is  from  generosity  to  you  that  I  maintain  it,"  said 
the  other,  coldly. 

"But  if  I  were  to  tell  you  that  the  knowledge  interests 
me  deeply ;  that  by  it  I  may  possibly  be  guided  in  a  most 
eventful  decision  ? " 

"Oh,  if  you  mean  to  say,  '  Alfred  Lay  ton  has  asked  me  to 
marry  him,  and  my  reply  depends  upon  what  1  may  learn 
about  his  family  and  their  station  '  —  " 

"No,  no;  I  have  not  said  that,"  burst  in  May. 

"Not  said,  only  implied  it.  Still,  if  it  be  what  you  desire 
me  to  entertain,  I  will  have  no  concealments  from  you." 

"I  cannot  buy  your  secret  by  a  false  pretence.  Loo;  there 
is  no  such  compact  as  this  between  Layton  and  myself. 
Alfred  asked  me  —  " 

"Alfred!"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  repeating  the  name  after 
her,  and  with  such  a  significance  as  sent  all  the  color  to  the 
girl's  cheek  and  forehead,  — "Alfred!  And  what  did 
Alfred  ask  you  ? " 

''I  scarcely  know  what  I  am  saying,"  cried  May,  as  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 

"Poor  child!"  cried  Mrs.  Morris,  tenderly,  "I  can  find 
my  way  into  your  heart  without  your  breaking  it.  Do  not 
cry,  dearest.  I  know  as  well  all  that  he  said  as  if  I  had 
overheard  him  saying  it!  The  world  has  just  its  two  kinds 
of  suitors, —  the  one  who  offers  us  marriage  in  a  sort  of  grand 
princely  fashion,  and  the  other  who,  beseechingly  proclaim- 
ing his  utter  unworthiness,  asks  us  to  wait, —  to  wait  for  an 
uncle  or  a  stepmother's  death;  to  wait  till  he  has  got  this 
place  in  the  colonies,  or  that  vicarage  in  Bleakshire;  to  wait 
till  he  has  earned  fame  and  honoi',  and  Heaven  knows  what; 
till,  in  fact,  he  shall  have  won  a  wreath  of  laurel  for  his 
brows,  and  we  have  attained  to  a  false  plait  for  ours!  "  She 
paused  a  second  or  two  to  see  if  May  would  speak,  but  as 
she  continued  silent,  Mrs.  Morris  went  on:  "There  are  few 
stock  subjects  people  are  more  eloquent  in  condemning  than 
what  are  called  long  engagements.     There  are  some  dozen 


144  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  easy  platitudes  that  every  one  has  by  heart  ou  this  theme ; 
aud  yet,  if  the  truth  were  to  be  told,  it  is  the  waiting  is  the 
best  of  it,  — the  marriage  is  the  mistake!  That  faint  little 
flickering  hope  that  lighted  us  ou  for  years  and  years  is  ex- 
tinguished at  the  church  door,  and  never  relighted  after;  so 
that.  May,  my  advice  to  you  is,  never  contract  a  long  en- 
gagement until  you  have  made  up  your  mind  not  to  marry 
at  the  end  of  it !  My  poor,  poor  child !  why  are  you  sob- 
bing so  bitterly?  Surely  I  have  said  nothing  to  cause  you 
sorrow  ?  " 

May  turned  away  without  speaking,  but  her  heaving 
shoulders  betrayed  how  intensely  she  was  weeping. 

"May  /  see  him, —  may  /  speak  with  him,  May?"  said 
Mrs.  Morris,  drawing  her  arm  affectionately  around  her 
waist. 

"To  what  end,  — with  what  view?"  said  the  girl,  sud- 
denly and  almost  haughtily. 

"Now  that  you  ask  me  in  that  tone.  May,  I  scarcely 
know.  I  suppose  I  meant  to  show  him  how  inconsiderate, 
how  impossible  his  hopes  were ;  that  there  was  nothing  in 
his  station  or  prospects  that  could  warrant  this  presumption. 
I  suppose  I  had  something  of  this  sort  on  my  mind,  but  I 
own  to  you  now,  your  haughty  glance  has  completely  routed 
all  my  wise  resolutions." 

"Perhaps  you  speculated  on  the  influence  of  that  peculiar 
knowledge  of  his  family  history  you  appear  to  be  possessed 
of?"  said  May,  with  some  pique. 

"Perhaps  so,"  was  the  dry  rejoinder. 

"And  which  you  do  not  mean  to  confide  to  vie  ?  "  said  the 
girl,  proudly. 

"I  have  not  said  so.  So  long  as  you  maintained  that  Mr. 
Layton  was  to  you  nothing  beyond  a  mere  acquaintance,  my 
secret,  as  you  have  so  grandly  called  it,  might  very  well 
rest  in  my  own  keeping.  If,  however,  the  time  were  come 
that  he  should  occupy  a  very  different  place  in  your 
regard  —  " 

"Instead  of  saying  '  were  come,'  Loo,  just  say,  '  If  the 
time  might  come,'  "  said  May,  timidly. 

"Well,  then,  '  if  the  time  mic/ht  come,'  I  might  tell  all 
that  I  know  about  him." 


MRS.  PENTHONY  MORRIS  AT  HER  WRITING-TABLE.      145 

"But  then  it  might  be  too  late.  I  mean,  that  it  might 
come  when  it  could  only  grieve,  and  not  guide  me." 

"Oh,  if  I  thought  that^  you  should  never  know  it!  Be 
assured  of  one  thing,  May :  no  one  ever  less  warred  against 
the  inevitable  than  myself.  When  I  read,  '  No  passage 
this  way,'  I  never  hesitate  about  seeking  another  road." 

"And  I  mean  to  go  mine,  and  without  a  guide  either!  " 
said  May,  moving  towards  the  door. 

"So  I  perceived  some  time  back,"  was  the  dry  reply  of 
Mrs.  Morris,  as  she  busied  herself  with  the  papers  before 
her. 

"Good-night,  dear,  and  forgive  my  interruption,"  said 
May,  opening  the  door. 

"Good-night,  and  delightful  dreams  to  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Morris,  in  her  own  most  silvery  accents.  And  May  was 
gone. 

The  door  had  not  well  closed  when  Mrs.  Morris  was 
again,  pen  in  hand,  glancing  rapidly  over  what  she  had 
written,  to  catch  up  the  clew.  This  was  quickly  accom- 
plished, and  she  wrote  away  rapidly.  It  is  not  "in  our 
brief"  to  read  that  letter;  nor  would  it  be  "evidence;" 
enough,  then,  that  we  say  it  was  one  of  those  light,  spark- 
ling little  epistles  which  are  thrown  off  in  close  confidence, 
and  in  which  the  writer  fearlessly  touches  any  theme  that 
offers.  She  sketched  off  the  Heathcotes  with  a  few  easy 
graphic  touches,  giving  a  very  pleasing  portraiture  of  May 
herself,  ending  with  these  words:  — 

"  Add  to  all  these  attractions  a  large  estate  and  a  considerable 
sum  in  the  funds,  and  then  say,  dear  pa,  is  not  this  what  Ludlow  had 
so  long  been  looking  for  ?  I  am  well  aware  of  his  pleasant  habit  of 
believing  nothing,  nor  any  one,  so  that  you  must  begin  by  referring 
him  to  Doctors'  Commons,  where  he  can  see  the  will.  General 
Leslie  died  in  18 — ,  and  left  Sir  William  Ileathcote  sole  executor. 
When  fully  satisfied  on  the  money  question,  you  can  learn  anything 
further  from  me  that  you  wish;  one  thing  only  I  stipulate  for,  and 
that  is,  to  hold  no  correspondence  myself  with  L.  Of  course,  like  as 
in  everything  else,  he '11  not  put  any  faith  in  this  resolution;  but 
time  will  teach  him  at  last.  The  negotiation  must  be  confided  to 
your  own  hands.  Do  not  employ  Collier  nor  any  one  else.  Be 
secret,  and  be  speedy,  for  I  plainly  perceive  the  young  lady  will 
marry  some  one  immediately  after  learning  a  disappointment  now 
10 


146  ONE   OF  THEM. 

impending.  Remember,  my  own  conditions  are :  all  the  letters,  and 
that  we  meet  as  utter  strangers.  I  ask  nothing  more,  I  will  accept 
nothing  less.  As  regards  Clara,  he  cannot,  I  suspect,  make  any  diffi- 
culty ;  but  that  may  be  a  question  for  ulterior  consideration.  Clara 
is  growing  up  pretty,  but  has  lost  all  her  spirits,  and  will,  in  a  few 
months  more,  look  every  day  of  her  real  age.  I  am  sadly  vexed 
about  this  ;  but  it  comes  into  the  long  category  of  the  things  to  be 
endured." 

The  letter  wound  up  with  some  little  light  and  flippant 
allusions  to  her  father's  complaints  about  political  in- 
gratitude :  — 

"  I  really  do  forget,  dear  papa,  which  are  our  friends  ;  but  surely 
no  party  would  refuse  your  application  for  a  moderate  employment. 
The  only  creature  I  know  personally  amongst  them  is  the  Colonial 
Sec. ,  and  he  says,  '  They  've  left  me  nothing  to  give  but  the  bishop- 
rics.' Better  that,  perhaps,  than  nothing  ;  but  could  you  manage  to 
accept  one?  that  is  the  question.  There  is  an  Irish  M.P.  here—  a 
certain  O'Shea  —  who  tells  me  there  are  a  variety  of  things  to  give 
in  the  West  Indies,  with  what  he  calls  wonderful  pickings  —  mean- 
ing, I  suppose,  stealings.  Wliy  not  look  for  one  of  these  ?  I  '11 
question  my  friend  the  Member  more  closely,  and  give  you  the 
result. 

"  It  was  odd  enough,  a  few  months  ago,  O'S.,  never  suspecting  to 
whom  he  was  talking,  said,  '  There  was  an  old  fellow  in  Ireland,  a 
certain  Nick  Holmes,  could  tell  more  of  Government  rogueries  and 
rascalities  than  any  man  living ;  and  if  I  were  he,  I  'd  make  them 
give  me  the  first  good  thing  vacant,  or  I  'd  speak  out.'  Dear  papa, 
having  made  so  much  out  of  silence,  is  it  not  worth  while  to  think 
how  much  eloquence  might  be  worth  ? 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"Lucy  M." 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

A    SICK-ROOM. 

It  was  a  severe  night  of  early  winter, —  one  of  those  stormy 
intervals  in  which  Italy  seems  to  assume  all  the  rigors  of 
some  northern  laud,  with  an  impetuosity  derived  from  her 
own  more  excitable  latitude.  The  rain  beat  against  the 
windows  with  distinct  and  separate  plashes,  and  the  wind 
rattled  and  shook  the  strong  walls  with  a  violence  that 
seemed  irresistible. 

In  a  large  old  room  of  a  very  old  palace  at  Lucca,  Alfred 
Layton  walked  to  and  fro,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to 
listen  to  some  heightened  effort  of  the  gale  without,  and 
then  resuming  his  lonely  saunter.  There  were  two  large 
and  richly  ornamented  fireplaces,  and  in  one  of  them  a  small 
fire  was  burning,  and  close  to  this  stood  a  table  with  a 
shaded  lamp,  and  by  these  frail  lights  a  little  brightness  was 
shed  over  this  portion  of  the  vast  chamber,  while  the 
remainder  was  shrouded  in  deep  shadow.  As  the  fitful 
flashes  of  the  wood-fire  shone  from  time  to  time  on  the  walls, 
little  glimpses  might  be  caught  of  a  much- faded  tapestry, 
representing  some  scenes  from  the"aEneid;"  but  on  none 
of  these  did  Layton  turn  an  eye  nor  bestow  a  thought,  for 
he  was  deep  in  sorrowful  reflections  of  his  own,  — cares  too 
heavy  to  admit  of  any  passing  distraction.  He  was  alone, 
for  Agincourt  had  gone  to  spend  the  day  at  the  "Caprini," 
whither  Alfred  would  have  accompanied  him  but  for  a  letter 
which  the  morning's  post  had  brought  to  his  hands,  and 
whose  contents  had  overwhelmed  him  with  sorrow. 

It  was  from  his  mother,  written  from  a  sick-bed,  and  in 
a  hand  that  betokened  the  most  extreme  debility.  And  oh! 
what  intense  expression  there  is  in  these  weak  and  waver- 
ing lines,  wherein  the  letters  seemed  to  vibrate  still  with  the 


148  ONE   OF  THEM. 

tremulous  motion  of  the  fevered  fingers !  —  what  a  deep 
significance  do  we  attach  to  every  word  thus  written!  till 
at  length,  possessed  of  every  syllable  and  every  stop,  we 
conjure  up  the  scene  where  all  was  written,  and  feel  as 
though  we  heard  the  hurried  breathing  of  the  sick-room. 
She  had  put  off  writing  week  after  week,  but  now  could 
defer  no  longer.  It  was  upwards  of  two  months  since  his 
father  had  left  her  to  go  to  Dublin,  and,  from  the  day  he 
went,  she  had  never  heard  from  him.  A  paragraph,  how- 
ever, in  a  morning  paper,  though  not  giving  his  name, 
unmistakably  alluded  to  him  as  one  who  had  grievously 
fallen  from  the  high  and  honorable  station  he  had  once  occu- 
pied, and  spoke  of  the  lamentable  reverse  that  should  show 
such  a  man  in  the  dock  of  a  police-court  on  the  charge  of 
insulting  and  libelling  a  public  character  in  a  ribald  hand- 
bill. The  prisoner  was  so  hopelessly  sunk  in  drunkenness, 
it  added,  that  he  was  removed  from  the  court,  and  the  exam- 
ination postponed. 

By  selling  one  by  one  the  little  articles  of  furniture  she 
had,  she  contrived,  hitherto,  to  eke  out  a  wretched  support, 
and  it  was  only  when  at  last  these  miserable  resources  had 
utterly  failed  her  that  she  was  driven  to  grieve  her  son  with 
her  sad  stoi-y.  Nor  was  the  least  touching  part  of  her 
troubles  that  in  which  she  spoke  of  her  straits  to  avoid 
being  considered  an  object  of  charity  by  her  neighbors. 
The  very  fact  of  the  rector  having  overpaid  for  a  few  books 
he  had  purchased  made  her  discontinue  to  send  him  others, 
so  sensitive  had  misery  made  her.  And  yet,  strangely 
enough,  there  did  not  exist  the  same  repugnance  to  accept 
of  little  favors  and  trifling  kindnesses  from  the  poor  people 
about  her,  of  whom  she  spoke  with  a  deep  and  affectionate 
gratitude.  Her  whole  heart  was,  however,  full  of  one 
thought  and  one  hope,  —  to  see  her  dear  son  before  she 
died.  It  was  a  last  wish,  and  she  felt  as  though  indulging 
it  had  given  her  the  energy  which  had  prolonged  her  life. 
Doubts  would  cross  her  mind  from  time  to  time  if  it  were 
possible  for  him  to  come;  if  he  could  be  so  far  his  own 
master  as  to  be  able  to  hasten  to  her;  and  even  if  doing  so, 
he  could  be  yet  in  time ;  but  all  these  would  give  way  before 
the  strength  of  her  hope. 


A   SICK-ROOM.  149 

"  That  I  should  see  you  beside  my  bed,  —  that  you  should  hold 
mv  hand  as  I  go  hence,  —  will  be  happiness  enough  to  requite  me 
for  much  sorrow  !  "  wrote  she.  "  But  if  this  may  not  be,  and  that 
we  are  to  meet  no  more  here,  never  forget  that  in  my  last  prayer 
your  name  was  mingled,  and  that  when  I  entreated  forgiveness  for 
myself,  I  implored  a  blessing  for  you  !  " 

"That  letter  was  written  on  the  Monday  before ;  and  where 
had  he  been  on  that  same  Monday  evening?"  asked  he  of 
himself.  "How  had  he  been  occupied  in  those  same  hours 
when  she  was  writing  this?  Yes,  that  evening  he  was 
seated  beside  May  Leslie  at  the  piano,  while  she  played 
and  sang  for  him.  They  had  been  talking  of  German  song- 
writers, and  she  was  recalling  here  and  there  such  snatches 
of  Uhland  and  Schiller  as  she  could  remember;  while  Clara, 
leaning  over  the  back  of  his  chair,  was  muttering  the  words 
when  May  forgot  them,  and  in  an  accent  the  purest  and 
truest.  What  a  happy  hour  was  that  to  1dm  .'  and  to  her 
how  wretched,  how  inexpressibly  wretched,  as,  alone  and 
friendless,  she  wrote  those  faint  lines!  " 

Poor  Laj'ton  felt  very  bitterly  the  thought  that,  while  he 
was  living  in  an  easy  enjoyment  of  life,  his  mother,  whom 
he  loved  dearly,  should  be  in  deep  want  and  suffering. 

In  the  easy  carelessness  of  a  disposition  inherited  from  his 
father,  he  had  latterly  been  spending  money  far  too  freely. 
His  constant  visits  to  Marlia  required  a  horse,  and  then, 
with  all  a  poor  man's  dread  to  be  thought  poor,  he  was  ten 
times  more  liberal  to  servants  than  was  called  for,  and  even 
too  ready  to  join  in  whatever  involved  cost  or  expense. 
Latterly,  too,  he  had  lost  at  play;  small  sums,  to  be  sure, 
but  they  were  the  small  sums  of  a  small  exchequer,  and  they 
occurred  every  day,  for  at  the  game  of  pool  poor  Layton's 
ball  was  always  the  first  on  the  retired  list;  and  the  terrible 
Mr.  O'Shea,  who  obsen^ed  a  sort  of  reserve  with  Charles 
Heathcote,  made  no  scruple  of  employing  sharp  practice 
with  the  tutor. 

He  emptied  the  contents  of  his  purse  on  the  table,  and 
found  that  all  his  worldly  wealth  was  a  trifle  over  fifteen 
pounds,  and  of  this  he  was  indebted  to  Charles  Heathcote 
some  three  or  four,  — the  losses  of  his  last  evening  at  the 
"Capriui."     What  was  to  be  done?     A  journey  to  Ireland 


150  ONE  OF  THEM. 

would  cost  fully  the  double  of  all  he  possessed,  not  to  say 
that,  once  there,  he  would  require  means.  So  little  was  he 
given  to  habits  of  personal  indulgence,  that  he  had  nothing 
—  absolutely  nothing  —  to  dispose  of  save  his  watch,  and 
that  was  of  little  value;  a  few  books,  indeed,  he  possessed, 
but  their  worth,  even  if  he  could  obtain  it,  would  have  been 
of  no  service.  With  these  embarrassing  thoughts  of  his 
poverty  came  also  others,  scarcely  less  fraught  with  diffi- 
culty. How  should  he  relieve  himself  of  his  charge  of  Lord 
Agincourt?  There  would  be  no  time  to  write  to  his  guar- 
dians and  receive  their  reply.  He  could  not  leave  the  boy 
in  Italy ;  nor  dare  he,  without  the  consent  of  his  relatives, 
take  him  back  to  England.  How  to  meet  these  difficulties 
he  knew  not,  and  time  was  pressing,  —  every  hour  of 
moment  to  him.  Was  there  one,  even  one,  whose  counsel 
he  could  ask,  or  whose  assistance  he  could  bespeak?  He 
ran  over  the  names  of  those  around  him,  but  against  each, 
in  turn,  some  insuperable  objection  presented  itself.  There 
possibly  had  been  a  time  he  might  have  had  recourse  to  Sir 
William,  frankly  owning  how  he  was  circumstanced,  and 
bespeaking  his  aid  for  the  moment;  but  of  late  the  old  Bar- 
onet's manner  towards  him  had  been  more  cold  and  reserved 
than  at  first,  —  studiously  courteous,  it  is  true,  but  a  cour- 
tesy that  excluded  intimacy.  As  to  Charles,  they  had  never 
been  really  friendly  together,  and  yet  there  was  a  familiarity 
between  them  that  made  a  better  understanding  more  remote 
than  ever. 

While  he  revolved  all  these  troubles  in  his  head,  he  walked 
up  and  down  his  room  with  the  feverish  impatience  of  one 
to  whom  rest  was  torture.  At  last,  even  the  house  seemed 
too  narrow  for  his  restless  spirit,  and,  taking  his  hat,  he 
went  out,  careless  of  the  swooping  rain,  nor  mindful  of  the 
cold  and  cutting  wind  as  it  swept  down  from  the  last  spur 
of  the  Apennines.  As  the  chill  rain  drenched  him,  there 
seemed  almost  a  sense  of  relief  in  the  substitution  of  a 
bodily  suffering  to  the  fever  that  burned  in  his  brain,  and 
seeking  out  the  bleakest  part  of  the  old  ramparts,  he  stood 
breasting  the  storm,  which  had  now  increased  to  a  perfect 
hurricane. 

"The  rain  cannot  beat  upon  one  more  friendless  and  for- 


'a  sick-room.  151 

lorn,"  muttered  he,  as  he  stood  shivering  there;  the  strange 
fascination  of  misery  suggesting  a  sort  of  bastard  heroism 
to  his  spirit.  "The  humblest  peasant  in  that  dreary  Cam- 
pagna  has  more  of  sympathy  and  kindness  than  I  have.  He 
has  those  poor  as  himself  and  powerless  to  aid,  but  willing 
to  befriend  him."  There  was  ever  in  his  days  of  depres- 
sion a  fierce  revolt  in  his  nature  against  the  position  he 
occupied  in  the  world.  The  acceptance  on  sufferance,  the 
recognition  accorded  to  his  pupil  being  his  only  claim  to 
attention,  were  painful  wounds  to  a  haughtj"  temperament, 
and,  with  the  ingenuity  of  a  self-tormentor,  he  ascribed  every 
reverse  he  met  in  life  to  his  false  position.  He  accepted  it, 
no  doubt,  to  be  able  to  help  those  who  had  made  such  sacri- 
fices for  him,  and  yet  even  in  this  it  was  a  failure.  There 
lay  his  poor  mother,  dying  of  very  want,  in  actual  destitu- 
tion, and  he  could  not  help  —  could  not  even  be  with  her ! 

Though  his  wet  clothes,  now  soaked  with  half-frozen 
drift,  sent  a  deadly  chill  through  him,  the  fever  of  his  blood 
rendered  him  unconscious  of  it,  and  his  burning  brain 
seemed  to  defy  the  storm,  while  in  the  wild  raging  of  the 
elements  he  caught  up  a  sort  of  excitement  that  sustained 
him.  For  more  than  two  hours  he  wandered  about  in  that 
half-frenzied  state,  and  at  length,  benumbed  and  exhausted, 
he  turned  homeward.  To  his  surprise,  he  perceived,  as  he 
drew  near,  that  the  windows  were  all  alight,  and  a  red  glow 
of  a  large  wood-fire  sent  its  mellow  glare  across  the  street; 
but  greater  was  his  astonishment  on  entering  to  see  the  tall 
figure  of  a  man  stretched  at  full  length  on  three  chairs  before 
the  fire,  fast  asleep,  a  carpet-bag  and  a  travelling-cloak 
beside  him. 

Never  was  Layton  less  disposed  to  see  a  stranger  and 
play  the  host  to  any  one,  and  he  shook  the  sleeper's  shoulder 
in  a  fashion  that  speedily  awoke  him;  who,  starting  up  with 
a  bound,  cried  out,  "Well,  Britisher,  I  must  say  this  is  a 
kinder  droll  way  to  welcome  a  frieud." 

"Oh,  Colonel,  is  it  you?"  said  Layton.  "Pray  forgive 
my  rudeness.  But  coming  in  as  I  did,  without  expecting 
any  one,  wet  and  somewhat  tired  — "  He  stopped  and 
looked  vacantly  about  him,  as  though  not  clearly  remember- 
ing where  he  was. 


152  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Quackinboss  had,  however,  been  keenly  examining  him 
while  he  spoke,  and  marked  in  his  wildly  excited  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks  the  signs  of  some  high  excitement.  "You 
ain't  noways  right;  you  're  wet  through  and  cold,  besides," 
said  he,  taking  his  hand  in  both  his  own.  "Do  you  feel 
ill?" 

"Yes ;  that  is  —  I  feel  as  if  —  I  —  had  —  lost  my  way," 
muttered  he,  with  long  pauses  between  the  words. 

"There  's  nothing  like  bed  and  a  sound  sleep  for  that," 
said  the  other,  gently;  while,  taking  Layton's  arm,  he  led 
him  quietly  along  towards  the  half-open  door  of  his  bedroom. 
Passively  surrendering  himself  to  the  other's  care,  Alfred 
made  no  resistance  to  all  he  dictated,  and,  removing  his 
dripping  clothes,  he  got  into  bed. 

"It  is  here  the  most  pain  is  now,"  said  he,  placing  his 
palm  on  his  temple,  —  "here,  and  inside  my  head." 

"I  wish  I  could  talk  to  that  servant  of  yours;  he  don't 
seem  a  very  bright  sort  of  creetur,  but  I  could  make  him  of 
use."  With  this  muttered  remark,  Quackinboss  walked  back 
into  the  sitting-room,  where  Layton's  man  was  now  extin- 
guishing the  lights  and  the  fire.  "You  have  to  keep  that 
fire  in,  I  say  —  fire  —  great  fire  —  hot  water.  Understand 
me?" 

"  'Strissimo!  si,"  said  the  Tuscan,  bowing  courteously. 

"Well,  then,  do  you  fetch  some  lemons  —  lemons.  You 
know  lemons,  don't  you?" 

A  shrug  was  the  unhappy  reply. 

"Lemong  —  lemong !     You  know  thein  ?  " 

"Limoni!  oh  si."  And  he  made  the  sign  of  squeezing 
them;  and  then,  hastening  out  of  the  room,  he  speedily  reap- 
peared with  lemons  and  other  necessaries  to  concoct  a  drink. 

"That's  it, — bravo,  that's  it!  Brew  it  right  hot,  my 
worthy  fellow,"  said  Quackinboss,  with  a  gesture  that  im- 
plied the  water  was  to  be  boiled  immediately.  He  now  re- 
turned to  Layton,  whom  he  found  sitting  up  in  the  bed,  talk- 
ing rapidly  to  himself,  but  with  all  the  distinctness  of  one 
perfectly  collected. 

"By  Marseilles  I  could  reach  Paris  on  Tuesday  night,  and 
London  on  Wednesday.  Is  n't  there  a  daily  packet  for 
Genoa?"  asked  he,  as  Quackinboss  entered. 


A  SICK-ROOM. 


153 


"Well,  I  guess  there  's  more  than  's  good  of  'em,"  drawled 
out  the  other;  "ill-fouud,  ill-manned,  dirty  craft  as  ever  I 
put  foot  in !  " 

"Yes,  but  they  leave  every  day,  don't  they?  "  asked  Lay- 
ton,  impatiently. 

"I  ain't  posted  up  in  their  doin's,  nor  I  don't  want  to, 
that 's  a  fact.  We  went  ashore  with  a  calm  sea  and  a  full 
moon,  coming  up  from  Civlta-Vecchia  —  " 


^^N\^'^^\V\J>'      - 


fir  ^rai  ^1^  -^^^ 


Layton  liurst  into  a  laugh  at  the  strange  pronunciation, 
—  a  wild,  unearthly  sort  of  laugh  that  ended  in  a  low,  faint 
sigh,  after  which  he  lay  back  like  one  exhausted, 

"I  'm  a-goin'  to  take  a  little  blood  from  you,  I  am!  "  said 
Quackinboss,  producing  a  lancet  which,  from  its  shape  and 
size,  seemed  more  conversant  with  horse  than  human 
practice, 

"I  '11  not  be  bled !  How  am  I  to  travel  a  journey  of  seven, 
eight,  or  ten  days  and  nights,  if  1  'm  bled?"  cried  the  sick 
man,  angrily. 


154  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  I  've  got  to  bleed  you,  and  I  '11  do  it!  "  said  Quacklnboss, 
as,  taking  out  his  handkerchief,  he  tore  a  long  strip,  like  a 
ribbon,  from  its  border. 

"Francesco  —  Francesco!"  screamed  out  Lay  ton,  wildly, 
"take  this  man  away;  he  has  no  right  to  be  here.  I  '11  not 
endure  it.  Leave  me  —  go  —  leave  me !  "  screamed  he, 
angrily. 

There  was  that  peculiar  something  about  the  look  of 
Quack inboss  that  assured  Francesco  it  would  be  as  well  not 
to  meddle  with  him ;  and,  like  all  his  countrymen,  he  was 
quick  to  read  an  expression  and  profit  by  his  knowledge. 
Even  to  the  sick  man,  too,  did  the  influence  extend,  and  the 
determinate,  purpose-like  tone  of  his  manner  enforced  obe- 
dience without  even  an  effort. 

"I  was  mystery-man  for  three  years  among  the  Choctaws," 
said  he,  as  he  bound  up  Laytou's  arm,  "and  I  '11  yield  to  no 
one  livin'  how  to  treat  a  swamp  fever,  and  that's  exactly 
what  you  've  got."  While  the  blood  trickled  from  the  open 
vein  he  continued  to  talk  on  in  the  same  stmin.  "  I  've  seen 
a  red  man  anoint  hisself  all  over  with  oil,  and  set  fire  to  it, 
and  then  another  stood  by  with  a  great  blanket  to  wrap  him 
up  afore  he  was  more  than  singed,  and  it  always  succeeded 
in  stoppiu'  the  fever.  It  brought  it  out  to  the  surface  like. 
Howsomever,  it's  only  an  Indian's  fixin',  and  I  don't  like 
it  with  a  white  man.     How  d'  ye  feel  now,  —  better?  " 

A  muttering,  dissatisfied  sound,  but  half  articulate,  seemed 
to  say,  "No  better." 

"It  ain't  to  be  expected  yet,"  said  Quackinboss.  "Lie 
down,  and  be  quiet  a  bit." 

Although  the  first  effect  of  the  bleeding  seemed  to  calm  the 
sufferer  and  arrest  his  fever,  the  symptoms  of  the  malady 
came  back  in  full  force  afterwards,  and,  ere  day  broke,  he 
was  raving  wildly.  At  one  moment  he  fancied  he  was  at 
work  in  the  laboratory  with  his  father,  and  he  ran  over  great 
calculations  of  mental  arithmetic  with  a  marvellous  volu- 
bility; then  he  was  back  in  his  chambers  at  Trinity,  but  he 
could  not  find  his  books ;  they  were  gone  —  lost  —  no,  not 
lost,  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  had  sold  them  —  sold 
them  to  send  a  pittance  to  his  poor  sick  mother.  "It's  a 
sad  story,  every  part  of  it,"  whispered  he  in  Quackinboss's 


A  SICK-ROOM.  155 

ear,  while  he  clutched  him  closely  with  his  hands.  "It  was 
a  great  man  was  lost,  mark  you;  and  in  a  great  shipwreck 
even  the  fragments  of  the  wreck  work  sad  destruction,  and, 
of  course,  none  will  say  a  word  for  him.  But  remember, 
sir,  I  am  his  son,  and  will  not  hear  a  syllable  against  him, 
from  you  nor  any  other."  From  this  he  abruptly  broke  off 
to  speak  of  O'Shea,  and  his  late  altercation  with  him.  "I 
waited  at  home  all  the  morning  for  him,  and  at  last  got  a 
note  to  say  that  he  had  forgotten  to  tell  me  of  an  appoint- 
ment he  had  made  to  ride  out  with  Miss  Leslie,  but  he  '11  be 
punctual  to  the  hour  to-morrow.  So  it 's  better  as  it  is. 
Colonel,  for  you  '11  be  here,  and  can  act  as  my  friend,  — 
won't  you?  Your  countrymen  understand  all  these  sort  of 
things  so  well.  And  then,  if  I  be  called  away  suddenly 
to  England,  don't  tell  them,"  whispered  he,  mysteriously,  — 
"don't  tell  them  at  the  villa  whither  I  've  gone.  They  know 
nothing  of  me  nor  of  my  family;  never  heard  of  my  ruined 
father,  nor  my  poor,  sick,  destitute  mother,  dying  of  actual 
want,  —  think  of  that,  —  while  I  was  playing  the  man  of 
fortune  here,  affecting  every  extravagance,  —  yes,  it  was  you 
yourself  said  so ;  I  overheard  you  in  the  garden,  asking  whv 
or  how  was  it,  with  such  ample  means,  I  would  become  a 
tutor." 

It  was  not  alone  that  these  words  were  uttered  in  a  calm 
and  collected  tone,  but  they  actually  recalled  to  the  Ameri- 
can a  remark  he  had  once  made  about  Lay  ton.  "Well," 
said  he,  as  if  some  apology  was  called  for,  "it  warn't  any 
business  of  mine,  but  I  was  sorry  to  see  it." 

"But  you  didn't  know  —  you  couldn't  know."  cried  the 
other,  eagerly,  "that  I  had  no  choice;  my  health  was  break- 
ing. I  had  overworked  my  head ;  I  could  n't  go  on.  Have 
you  ever  tried  what  it  is  to  read  ten  hours  a  day?  Answer 
me  that." 

"No;  but  I've  been  afoot  sixteen  out  of  the  twent}'- 
four  for  weeks  together,  on  an  Indian  trail;  and  that's 
con-siderable  worse,  I  take  it." 

"Who  cares  for  mere  fatigue  of  body?"  said  Layton, 
contemptuously. 

"And  who  says  it's  mere  fatigue  of  body?"  rejoined  the 
other,  "when  every  sense  a  man  has  is  strained  and  stretched 


156  ONE   OF  THEM. 

to  breakin',  his  ear  to  the  earth,  and  his  eyes  rangin'  over 
the  swell  of  the  prairies,  till  his  brain  aches  with  the  strong 
effort;  for,  mark  ye,  Choctaws  isn't  Pawnees:  they're  on 
you  with  a  swoop,  just  like  a  white  squall  in  the  summer 
time."  There  is  no  saying  how  far  Quackinboss,  notwith- 
standing all  his  boasted  skill  in  physic,  might  have  been 
tempted  to  talk  on  about  a  theme  he  loved  so  well,  when  he 
was  suddenly  admonished,  by  the  expression  of  Layton's 
face,  that  the  sick  man  was  utterly  unconscious  of  all  around 
him.  The  countenance  had  assumed  that  peculiar  stern  and 
stolid  gaze  which  is  so  markedly  the  characteristic  of  an 
affected  brain. 

"There,"  muttered  Quackinboss  to  himself,  "I  've  been 
a-talkin'  all  this  time  to  a  poor  creetur  as  is  ravin'  mad ;  all 
I've  been  doin'  is  to  make  him  worse." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


A    MASTER    AND    MAN. 


Who  owns  the  smart  tandem  that  trips  along  so  flippantly 
over  the  slightly  frosted  road  from  the  Bagni  towards  Lucca? 
What  genius,  cunning  in  horseflesh,  put  that  spicy  pair  to- 
gether, perfect  matches  as  they  are  in  all  but  color,  for  the 
wheeler  is  a  blood  chestnut,  and  the  leader  a  bright  gray, 
with  bone  and  substance  enough  for  hunters?  They  have  a 
sort  of  lithe  and  wiry  action  that  reminds  one  of  the  Hun- 
garian breed,  and  so,  indeed,  a  certain  jaunty  carriage  of  the 
head,  and  half  wild-looking  expression  of  eye,  bespeak  them. 
The  high  dog-cart,  however,  is  unmistakably  English,  as  well 
as  the  harness,  with  its  massive  mountings  and  broad  straps. 
What  an  air  of  mingled  elegance  and  solidity  pervades  the 
entire !  It  is,  as  it  were,  all  that  such  an  equipage  can  pre- 
tend to  compass, — lightness,  speed,  and  a  dash  of  sporting 
significance  being  its  chief  characteristics. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  present  you  to  the  portly  gentleman 
who  holds  the  ribbons,  all  encased  as  he  is  in  box-coats  and 
railway  wrappers ;  you  can  still  distinguish  Mr.  O'Shea,  and 
as  unmistakably  recognize  his  man  Joe  beside  him.  The 
morning  is  sharp,  clear,  and  frosty,  but  so  perfectly  still 
that  the  blue  smoke  of  Mr.  O'Shea's  cigar  hangs  floating  in 
the  air  behind  him,  as  the  nimble  nags  spin  along  at  some- 
thing slightl}'  above  thirteen  miles  an  hour.  Joe,  too,  solaces 
himself  with  the  bland  weed,  but  in  more  primitive  fashion, 
from  a  short  "  dudeen  "  of  native  origin  :  his  hat  is  pressed 
down  firmly  over  his  brows,  and  his  hands,  even  to  the 
wrists,  deeply  encased  in  his  pockets,  for  Joe,  be  it  owned, 
is  less  amply  supplied  with  woollen  comforts  than  his  master, 
and  feels  the  morning  sharp. 


158  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Now,  I  call  this  a  very  neat  turn-out;  the  sort  of  thing 
a  man  might  not  be  ashamed  to  tool  along  through  any  town 
in  Europe,"  said  O'Shea. 

"You  might  show  it  in  Sackville  Street!"  said  Joe, 
proudly. 

"  Sackville  Street?"  rejoined  O'Shea,  in  an  accent  of  con- 
temptuous derision.  "Is  there  any  use,  I  wonder,  in  bring- 
ing you  all  over  the  world  ? " 

"  There  is  not,"  said  the  other,  in  his  most  dogged 
manner. 

"If  there  was,"  continued  O'Shea,  "you'd  know  that 
Dublin  had  no  place  amongst  the  gi'eat  cities  of  Europe,  — 
that  nobody  went  there,  —  none  so  much  as  spoke  of  it.  I  'd 
just  as  soon  talk  of  Macroom  in  good  society." 

"  And  why  would  n't  you  talk  of  Macroom?  What's  the 
shame  in  it? "  asked  the  inexorable  Joe. 

"  There  would  be  just  the  same  shame  as  if  I  was  to  bring 
you  along  with  me  when  I  was  asked  out  to  dinner  I " 

"  You  might  do  worse,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

"  I  'm  curious  to  hear  how." 

"Troth,  you  might;  and  easy  too,"  said  Joe,  senten- 
tiously. 

These  slight  passages  did  not  seem  to  invite  conversation, 
and  so,  for  above  a  mile  or  two,  nothing  was  spoken  on 
either  side.     At  last  Mr.  O'Shea  said,  — 

"I  think  that  gray  horse  has  picked  up  a  stone  ;  he  goes 
tenderly  near  side." 

"He  does  not;  he  goes  as  well  as  you  do,"  was  Joe's 
answer. 

"You're  as  blind  as  a  bat,  or  you'd  see  he  goes  lame," 
said  O'Shea,  drawing  up. 

"  There,  he 's  thrown  it  now ;  it  was  only  a  bit  of  a  pebble," 
said  Joe,  as  though  the  victory  was  still  on  his  side. 

"Upon  my  life,  I  wonder  why  I  keep  you  at  all,"  burst 
out  O'Shea,  angrily. 

"  So  do  I ;  and  I  wonder  more  why  I  stay." 

' '  Does  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  guess  why  ?  " 

"No;  never." 

"  It  has  nothing  to  say  to  being  well  fed,  well  lodged,  well 
paid,  and  well  cared  for?  " 


A' MASTER   AND  MAN.  159 

"No;  it  has  not,"  said  Joe,  gravely.  "The  bit  I  ate,  I 
get  how  I  can ;  these  is  iny  own  clothes,  and  sorrow  six- 
pence I  seen  o'  your  money  since  last  Christmas." 

"Get  down,  —  get  down  on  the  road  this  instant.  You 
shall  never  sit  another  mile  beside  me." 

"  I  will  not  get  down.  Why  would  I,  in  a  strange  coun- 
thry,  and  not  a  farthin'  in  my  pocket !  " 

"  Have  a  civil  tongue,  then,  and  don't  provoke  me  to  turn 
you  adrift  on  the  world." 

"  I  don't  want  to  provoke  you." 

"What  beastly  stuflf  is  that  you  are  smoking?"  said 
O'Shea,  as  a  whole  cloud  from  Joe's  pipe  came  wafted 
across  him. 

"'T  is  n't  bastely  at  all.  I  took  it  out  of  your  own  bag 
this  moruiug." 

"  Not  out  of  the  antelope's  skin?  "  asked  O'Shea,  eagerly. 

"  Yes ;  out  of  the  hairy  bag  with  the  little  hoofs  on  it." 

A  loud  burst  of  laughter  was  O'Shea's  reply,  and  for 
several  seconds  he  could  not  control  his  mirth. 

"Do  you  know  what  you're  smoking!  It's  Russian 
camomile !  " 

"  Maybe  it  is." 

"  I  got  it  to  make  a  bitter  mixture." 

"  It 's  bitther,  sure  enough,  but  it  has  a  notion  of  tobacco 
too." 

O'Shea  again  laughed  out,  and  longer  than  before. 

"  It 's  just  a  chance  that  you  were  n't  poisoned,"  said  he, 
at  last.  "  Here  —  here's  a  cigar  for  you,  and  a  real  Cuban, 
too,  one  that  young  Heathcote  never  fancied  would  grace 
your  lips." 

Joe  accepted  the  boon  without  acknowledgment ;  indeed, 
he  scrutinized  the  gift  with  an  air  of  half-depreciation. 

"  You  don't  seem  to  think  much  of  a  cigar,"  said  O'Shea, 
testily. 

"  When  I  can  get  no  betther,"  said  Joe,  biting  off  the  end. 

O'Shea  frowned  and  turned  away.  It  was  evident  that  he 
had  some  difficulty  in  controlling  himself,  but  he  succeeded, 
and  was  silent.  The  effort,  however,  could  not  be  sustained 
very  long,  and  at  last  he  said,  but  in  a  slow  and  measured 
tone,  — 


160  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  a  home-truth,  Master  Joe?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  like." 

"  It  is  this,  then  :  it  is  that  same  ungracious  and  ungrate- 
ful way  with  which  you,  and  every  one  like  you  in  Ireland, 
receive  benefits,  disgusts  every  stranger." 

"  Benefits!  " 

"  Yes,  benefits,  —  I  said  benefits." 

"Sure,  what's  our  own  isn't  benefits,"  rejoined  Joe, 
calmly. 

"  Your  own?  May  I  ask  if  the  contents  of  that  bag  were 
your  own  ?  " 

"  'Tis  at  the  devil  I  'm  wishiu'  it  now,"  said  Joe,  putting 
his  hand  on  his  stomach.  "  'Tis  tearing  me  to  pieces,  it  is, 
bad  luck  to  it !  " 

O'Shea  was  angry,  but  such  was  the  rueful  expression  of 
Joe's  face  that  he  laughed  out  again. 

"Now  he's  goin'  lame  if  you  like!"  cried  Joe,  with  a 
tone  of  triumph  that  said,  "  All  the  mishaps  are  not  on 
viy  side." 

O'Shea  pulled  up,  and  knowing,  probably,  the  utter  in- 
utility of  employing  Joe  at  such  a  moment,  got  down  himself 
to  see  what  was  amiss. 

"  No,  it's  the  off  leg,"  cried  Joe,  as  his  master  was  care- 
fully examining  the  near  one. 

"■  I  suppose  he  must  have  touched  the  frog  on  a  sharp 
stone,"  said  O'Shea,  after  a  long  and  fruitless  exploration. 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Joe;  " 't  is  more  like  to  be  a 
dizaze  of  the  bone,  —  one  of  thim  dizazes  of  the  fetlock 
that 's  never  cured." 

A  deeply  uttered  malediction  was  O'Shea's  answer  to  the 
pleasant  prediction. 

"  I  never  see  one  of  them  recover,"  resumed  Joe,  who 
saw  his  advantage;  "but  the  baste  will  do  many  a  day's 
slow  work  —  in  a  cart." 

"Hold  your  prate,  and  be  hanged  to  you!"  muttered 
O'Shea,  as,  between  anger  and  stooping,  he  was  threatened 
with  a  small  apoplexy.  "  Move  them  on  gently  for  a  few 
yards,  till  I  get  a  look  at  him." 

Joe  leisurely  moved  into  his  master's  place,  and  bestowed 
the  rug  very  comfortably  around  his  legs.     This  done,  with 


A  MASTER  AND   MAN.  161 

a  degree  of  detail  and  delay  that  seemed  almost  intended  to 
irritate,  he  next  slowly  arranged  the  reins  in  his  fingers,  and 
then,  with  a  jerk  of  his  whip-hand,  sending  out  the  lash  in  a 
variety  of  curves,  he  brought  the  whipcord  down  on  the 
leader  with  a  "nip"  that  made  him  plunge,  while  the 
wheeler,  understanding  the  hint,  started  off  at  full  swing. 
So  sudden  and  unexpected  was  the  start,  that  O'Shea  had 
barely  time  to  spring  out  of  the  way  to  escape  the  wheel. 
Before,  indeed,  he  had  thoroughly  recovered  his  footing, 
Joe  had  swept  past  a  short  turning  of  the  road,  leaving 
nothing  but  a  light  train  of  dust  to  mark  his  course. 

"Stop!  pull  up!  stop!  confound  you!"  cried  O'Shea, 
with  other  little  expletives  that  print  is  not  called  on  to  re- 
peat, and  then,  boiling  with  passion,  he  set  off  in  pursuit. 
When  he  had  gained  the  angle  of  the  road,  it  was  only  to 
catch  one  look  at  his  equipage  as  it  disappeared  in  the  dis- 
tance ;  the  road,  dipping  suddenly,  showed  him  little  more 
than  a  torso  of  the  "  faithful  Joe,"  diminishing  rapidly  to  a 
head,  and  then  vanishing  entirely. 

"  What  a  scoundrel !  what  a  rascal !"  cried  O'Shea,  as  he 
wiped  his  forehead ;  and  then,  with  his  fist  clenched  and  up- 
raised, "registered  a  vow,"  as  Mr.  O'Connell  used  to  say, 
of  unlimited  vengeance.  If  this  true  history  does  not  record 
the  full  measure  of  the  heart-devouring  anger  of  O'Shea,  it 
is  not  from  any  sense  of  its  being  undeserved  or  unreason- 
able, for,  after  all,  worthy  reader,  it  might  have  pushed  even 
your  patience  to  have  been  left  standing,  of  a  sharp  Novem- 
ber morning,  on  a  lonely  road,  while  your  carriage  was 
driven  off  by  an  insolent  "  flunke}^" 

As  he  was  about  midway  between  the  Bagni  and  the  town 
of  Lucca,  to  which  he  was  bound,  he  half  hesitated  whether 
to  go  on  or  to  return.  There  was  shame  in  either  course, — 
shame  in  going  back  to  recount  his  misadventure;  shame 
in  having  to  call  Joe  to  a  reckoning  in  Lucca  before  a  crowd 
of  strangers,  and  that  vile  population  of  the  stable-yard,  with 
which,  doubtless,  Joe  would  have  achieved  popularity  before 
his  master  could  arrive. 

Of  a  verity  the  situation  was  embarrassing,  and  in  his 
muttered  comments  upon  it  might  be  read  how  thoroughly 
his  mind  took  in  every  phase  of  its  difficulty.  "How  they  '11 
11 


162  ONE   OF  THEM. 

laugh  at  me  up  at  the  Villa!  It  will  last  Sir  William  for 
the  winter;  he'll  soon  hear  how  I  won  the  trap  from  his 
son,  and  he  '11  be  ready  with  the  old  saw,  '  Ah!  ill  got,  ill 
gone! '  How  young  Heathcote  will  enjoy  it;  and  the  widow, 
—  if  she  be  a  widow,  —  won't  she  caricature  me,  as  I  stand 
halloaing  out  after  the  runaway  rascal?  Very  hard  to  get 
out  of  all  this  ridicule  without  something  serious  to  cover 
it.  That 's  the  only  way  to  get  out  of  a  laughable  adven- 
ture; so.  Master  Layton,  it's  all  the  worse  for  yo^l.  this 
morning."  In  this  train  of  thought  was  he  deeply  immersed 
as  a  peasant  drove  past  in  his  light  "calesina."  O'Shea 
quickly  hailed  the  man,  and  bargained  with  him  for  a  seat 
to  Lucca. 

Six  weary  miles  of  a  jolting  vehicle  did  not  contribute 
much  to  restore  his  calm  of  mind,  and  it  was  in  a  perfect 
frenzy  of  anger  he  walked  into  the  inn-yard,  where  he  saw 
his  carriage  now  standing.  In  the  stables  his  horses  stood, 
sheeted  up,  but  still  dirty  and  travel-stained.  Joe  was 
absent.  "  He  had  been  there  five  minutes  ago ;  he  was  not  an 
instant  gone ;  he  had  never  left  his  horses  till  now ;  taken  such 
care  of  them,  —  watered,  fed,  groomed,  and  clothed  them ; 
he  was  a  treasure,  — there  was  not  bis  like  to  be  found." 
These,  and  suchlike,  were  the  eulogies  universally  bestowed 
by  the  stable  constituency  upon  one  whom  O'Shea  was  at  the 
same  time  consigning  in  every  form  to  the  infernal  gods! 
The  grooms  and  helpers  wore  a  half  grin  on  their  faces  as 
he  passed  out,  and  again  he  muttered,  "All  the  worse  for 
you.,  Layton;  yoit'W  have  to  pay  the  reckoning." 

He  was  not  long  in  finding  the  Barsotti  Palace,  where 
Layton  lodged;  an  old  tumble-down  place  it  was,  with  a 
grass-grown,  mildewed  court,  and  some  fractured  statues, 
green  with  damp,  around  it.  The  porter,  indicating  with  a 
gesture  of  his  thumb  where  the  stranger  lived,  left  O'Shea  to 
plod  up  the  stairs  alone. 

It  was  strange  enough  that  it  should  then  have  occurred  to 
him,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had  no  definite  idea  about 
what  he  was  coming  for.  Layton  and  he  had,  it  is  true,  some 
words,  and  Layton  had  given  him  time  and  place  to  con- 
tinue the  theme;  but  in  what  way?  To  make  Layton  reiter- 
ate in  cold  blood  something  he  might  have  uttered  in  anger. 


A  MASTER  AND   MAN.  163 

and  would  probably  retract,  if  called  upon  courteously,  — 
this  would  be  very  poor  policy.  AVhile,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  permit  him  to  insinuate  anything  on  the  score  of  his 
success  at  play  might  be  even  worse  again.  It  was  a  case 
for  very  nice  management,  and  so  O'Shea  thought,  as,  after 
arriving  at  a  door  bearing  Layton's  name  on  a  visiting- 
card,  he  took  a  turn  in  the  lobby  to  consider  his  course  of 
proceeding.  The  more  he  thought  over  it,  the  more  difficult 
he  found  it;  in  fact,  at  last  he  saw  it  to  be  one  of  those 
cases  in  which  the  eventuality  alone  can  decide  the  line  to 
take,  and  so  he  gave  a  vigorous  pull  at  the  bell,  determined 
to  begin  the  campaign  at  once. 

The  door  was  not  opened  immediately,  and  he  repeated 
his  summons  still  louder.  Scarcely  had  the  rope  quitted  his 
hand,  however,  when  a  heavy  bolt  was  drawn  back,  the  door 
was  thrown  wide,  and  a  tall  athletic  man,  in  shirt  and  trou- 
sers, stood  before  him. 

*' Well,  stranger,  you  arn't  much  distressed  with  patience, 
that's  a  fact,"  said  a  strongly  nasal  accent,  while  the 
speaker  gave  a  look  of  verj^  fierce  defiance  at  the  visitor. 

"Am  I  speaking  to  Colonel  Quackiuboss  ? "  asked 
O'Shea,   in  some  surprise. 

"Well,  sir,  if  it  ain't  him,  it's  some  one  in  h/s  skin,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

"My  visit  was  to  Mr.  Lay  ton,"  said  the  other,  stiffly. 
"Is  he  at  home?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  but  he  's  not  a-goin'  to  see  you." 

"I  came  here  by  his  appointment." 

"That  don't  change  matters  a  red  cent,  stranger;  and  as 
I  said  a'ready,  he  ain't  a-goin'  to  see  you." 

"Oh,  then  I  'm  to  understand  that  he  has  placed  himself 
in  ijour  hands?  You  assume  to  act  for  him?  "  said  O'Shea, 
stiffly. 

"Well,  if  you  like  to  take  it  from  that  platform,  I  '11  offer 
no  objection,"  said  Quackiuboss,  gravely. 

"Am  I,  or  am  I  not,  to  regard  you  as  a  friend  on  this 
occasion?"  said  O'Shea,  authoritatively. 

"I  '11  tell  you  a  secret,  stranger;  you  '11  not  be  your  own 
friend  if  you  don't  speak  to  me  in  another  tone  of  voice. 
I  ain't  used  to  be  halloaed  at,  I  ain't." 


164  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"One  thing  at  a  time,  sir,"  said  O'Shea.  "When  I  have 
finished  the  business  which  brought  me  here,  I  shall  be  per- 
fectly at  your  service." 

"Now  I  call  that  talkin'  reasonable.  Step  inside,  sir,  and 
take  a  seat,"  said  Quackinboss,  whose  manner  was  now  as 
calm  as  possible. 

Whatever  irritation  O'Shea  really  felt,  he  contrived  to 
subdue  it  in  appearance,  as  he  followed  the  other  into  the 
room. 

O'Shea  was  not  so  deficient  in  tact  that  he  could  not  see 
his  best  mode  of  dealing  with  the  American  was  to  proceed 
with  every  courtesy  and  deference,  and  so,  as  he  seated 
himself  opposite  him,  he  mentioned  the  reason  of  his  coming 
there  without  anything  like  temper,  and  stated  that  fi'om  a 
slight  altercation  such  a  difference  arose  as  required  either 
an  explanation  or  a  meeting. 

"He  can't  go  a-shooting  with  you,  stranger;  he's  struck 
down  this  morning,"  said  Quackinboss,  gravely,  as  the  other 
finished. 

"Do  j'ou  mean  he  's  ill?  " 

"I  s'pose  I  do,  when  I  said  he  was  down,  sir." 

"This  is  most  unfortunate,"  broke  in  O'Shea.  "My 
duties  as  a  public  man  require  my  being  in  England  next 
week.  I  hoped  to  have  settled  this  little  matter  before  my 
departure.  I  see  nothing  for  it  but  to  beg  you  will  in 
writing  —  a  few  lines  will  suffice  —  corroborate  the  fact  of 
my  having  presented  myself  here,  according  to  appointment, 
and  mention  the  sad  circumstances  by  which  our  intentions, 
for  I  believe  I  may  speak  of  Mr.  Layton's  as  my  own,  have 
been  frustrated." 

"  Well,  now,  stranger,  we  are  speakin'  in  confidence  here, 
and  I  may  just  as  well  observe  to  you  that  of  all  the 
weapons  that  fit  a  man's  hands,  the  pen  is  the  one  I  'm 
least  ready  with.  I  'm  indifferent  good  with  firearms  or  a 
bowie,  but  a  pen,  you  see,  cuts  the  fingers  that  hold  it  just 
as  often  as  it  hurts  the  enemy,  and  I  don't  like  it." 

"But  surely,  where  the  object  is  merely  to  testify  to  a 
plain  matter-of-fact  —  " 

"There  ain't  no  such  things  on  the  'arth  as  plain  matters 
of  fact,  sir,"  broke  in  Quackinboss,  eagerly.     "I've  come 


A  MASTER  AND   MAN.  165 

to  the  middle  period  of  life,  and  I  never  met  one  of 
'em !  " 

O'Shea  made  a  slight,  very  slight  movement  of  impatience 
at  these  words ;  but  the  other  remarked  it,  and  said,  — 

"  We  '11  come  to  that  presently,  sir.  Let  us  just  post  up 
this  account  of  Mr.  Lay  ton's,  first  of  all." 

"I  don't  think  there  is  anything  further  to  detain  me 
here,"  said  O'Shea,  rising  with  an  air  of  stiff  politeness. 

"Won't  you  take  something,  sir, — won't  you  liquor?" 
asked  Quackinboss,  calmly. 

"Excuse  me;  I  never  do  of  a  morning." 

"I  'm  sorry  for  it.  I  was  a-thinkin',  maybe  you  'd  warm 
up  a  bit  with  a  glass  of  something  strong.  I  was  hopin' 
it's  the  cold  of  the  day  chilled  you!  " 

"Do  you  mean  this  for  insult,  sir?"  said  O'Shea.  "I 
ask  you,  because,  reall}^,  your  use  of  the  English  language 
is  of  a  kind  to  warrant  the  question." 

"That 's  where  I  wanted  to  see  you,  sir.  You  're  coming 
up  to  a  good  boilin'-point  now,  stranger,"  said  Quackin- 
boss, with  a  pleased  look. 

"Is  he  mad,  is  he  deranged?"  muttered  O'Shea,  half 
aloud. 

"No,  sir.  We  Western  men  are  little  liable  to  insanity; 
our  lives  are  too  much  abroad  and  open-air  lives  for  that. 
It 's  your  thoughtful,  reflective,  deep  men,  as  wears  a  rut  in 
their  mind  with  thinkin' ;  them  's  the  fellows  goes  mad." 

O' Shea's  stare  of  astonishment  at  this  speech  scarcely 
seemed  to  convey  a  concurrence  in  the  assertion,  and  he 
made  a  step  towards  the  door. 

"If  you're  a-goin',  I've  nothing  more  to  say,  sir,"  said 
Quackinboss. 

"I  cannot  see  what  there  is  to  detain  me  here!  "  said  the 
other,  sternly. 

"There  ain't  much,  that 's  a  fact,"  was  the  cool  reply. 
"There's  nothing  remarkable  in  them  bottles;  it's  new 
brandy  and  British  gin;  and  as  for  myself,  sir,  I  can  only 
say  I  must  give  you  a  bill  payable  at  sight,  —  whenever  we 
may  meet  again,  I  mean ;  for  just  now  this  j^oung  man  here 
can't  spare  me.  I  'm  his  nurse,  you  see.  I  hope  you  under- 
stand me  ?  " 


166  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"I  believe  I  do." 

"Well,  that 's  all  right,  stranger,  and  here  '8  my  hand 
on't."  And  even  before  O'Shea  was  well  aware,  the  other 
had  taken  his  hand  in  his  strong  grasp  and  was  shaking  it 
heartily.  O'Shea  found  it  very  hard  not  to  laugh  outright, 
but  there  was  a  meaning-like  determination  in  the  Ameri- 
can's manner  that  showed  it  was  no  moment  for  mirth. 

It  was,  however,  necessary  to  say  something  to  relieve  a 
very  awkward  pause,  and  so  he  observed,  — 

"I  hope  Mr.  Layton's  illness  is  not  a  serious  one.  I  saw 
him,  as  I  thought,  perfectly  well  two  days  back." 

"He's  main  bad,  sir;  very  sick, — very  sick,  indeed." 

"You  have  a  doctor,  I  suppose?  " 

"No,  sir.  I  have  some  experience  myself,  and  I'm  just 
a-treatin'  him  by  what  I  picked  up  among  people  that  have 
very  few  apothecaries, — the  Mandan  Indians." 

"Without  being  particular,  I  must  own  I  'd  prefer  a  more 
civilized  course  of  physic,"  said  O'Shea,  with  a  faint  smile. 

"Very  likely,  stranger;  and  if  you  had  a  dispute,  you  'd 
rather,  maj'hap,  throw  it  into  a  law  court,  and  leave  it  to 
three  noisy  fellows  to  quarrel  over;  while  I'd  look  out  for 
two  plain  fellows,  with  horny  hands  and  honest  hearts,  and 
say,  '  What 's  the  rights  o'  this,  gentlemen?  '  " 

"I  wish  you  every  success,  I'm  sure,"  said  O'Shea, 
bowing. 

"The  same  to  you,  sir,"  said  the  other,  in  a  sing-song 
tone.     "Good-bj'e." 

When  O'Shea  had  reached  the  first  landing,  he  stopped, 
and,  leaning  against  the  wall,  laughed  heartily.  "I  hope 
I'll  be  able  to  remember  all  he  said,"  muttered  he,  as  he 
fancied  himself  amusing  some  choice  company  by  a  per- 
sonation of  the  Yankee.  "The  whole  thing  was  as  good  as 
a  play!  But,"  added  he,  after  a  pause,  "I  'm  not  sorry  it 's 
over,  and  that  I  have  done  with  him !  "  Very  true  and  heart- 
felt was  this  last  reflection  of  the  Member  for  Inch,  —  a  far 
more  honest  recognition  than  even  the  hearty  laugh  he  had 
just  enjoyed, — and  then  there  came  an  uneasy  after- 
thought, that  asked,  "What  could  he  mean  by  talking  of  a 
long  bill,  payable  at  some  future  opportunity?  Surely 
he  can't  imagine  that  we  're  to  renew  all  this  if  we  ever  meet 


a'  master  and  man.  167 

9,gain.  No,  no,  Colonel,  your  manners  and  your  medicine 
may  be  learned  amongst  the  Mandans,  but  they  won't  do 
here  with  us!"  And  so  he  issued  into  the  street,  not  quite 
reassured,  but  somewhat  more  comforted. 

So  occupied  was  his  mind  with  the  late  scene,  that  he  had 
walked  fully  half-way  back  to  his  inn  ere  he  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  Joe.  Wise  men  were  they  who  suggested  that 
the  sentence  of  a  prisoner  should  not  immediately  foUow 
the  conclusion  of  his  trial,  but  ensue  after  the  interval  of 
some  two  or  three  days.  In  the  impulse  of  a  mind  fully 
charged  with  a  long  narrative  of  guilt  there  is  a  force  that 
seeks  its  expansion  in  severity;  whereas,  in  the  brief  respite 
of  even  some  hours,  there  come  doubts  and  hesitations  and 
regrets  and  palliations.  In  a  word,  a  variety  of  consider- 
ations unadmitted  before  find  entrance  now  to  the  mind, 
and  are  suffered  to  influence  it. 

Now,  though  Mr.  O'Shea's  first  and  not  very  unnatural 
impulse  was  to  give  Joe  a  sound  thrashing  and  then  dis- 
charge him,  the  interval  we  have  just  described  moderated 
considerably  the  severity  of  this  resolve.  In  the  first  place, 
although  the  reader  may  be  astonished  at  the  assertion,  Joe 
was  one  very  difficult  to  replace,  since,  independently  of 
his  aptitude  to  serve  as  groom,  valet,  or  cook,  he  was  deeply 
versed  in  all  the  personal  belongings  of  his  master.  He  had 
been  with  him  through  long  years  of  difficulty,  and  aided 
him  in  various  ways,  from  corrupting  the  virtuous  free- 
holders of  Inchabogue  to  raising  an  occasional  supply  on  the 
rose-amethyst  ring.  Joe  had  fought  for  him  and  lied  for 
him,  with  a  zealous  devotion  not  to  be  forgotten.  Not, 
indeed,  that  he  loved  his  master  more,  but  that  he  liked  the 
world  less,  and  Joe  found  a  sincere  amount  of  pleasure  in 
seeing  how  triumphantly  their  miserable  pretensions  swayed 
and  dominated  over  mankind.  And,  lastly,  he  had  another 
attribute,  not  to  be  undervalued  in  an  age  like  ours,  —  he 
had  no  wages !  It  is  not  to  be  understood  that  he  served 
O'Shea  out  of  some  sense  of  heroic  devotion  or  attachment: 
no;  Joe  lived,  as  they  say  in  India,  on  "loot."  When  times 
were  prosperous,  — that  is,  when  billiards  and  blind-hookey 
smiled,  and  to  his  master's  pockets  came  home  small  Cali- 
fornias  of  half-crowns  and  even  sovereigns, — Joe  prospered 


168  ONE   OF  THEM. 

also.  He  drank  boldly  and  freely  from  the  cup  when  brim- 
ful, but  the  half-empty  goblet  he  only  sipped  at.  When 
seasons  of  pressure  set  in,  Joe's  existence  was  maintained 
by  some  inscrutable  secret  of  his  own;  for,  be  it  known 
that  on  O' Shea's  arrival  at  an  hotel,  his  almost  first  care 
was  to  announce,  "You  will  observe  my  servant  is  on  board 
wages;  he  pays  for  himself;"  and  Joe  would  corroborate 
the  myth  with  a  bow.  Bethink  yourself,  good  reader,  had 
you  been  the  Member  for  Inch,  it  might  have  been  a  ques- 
tion whether  to  separate  from  such  a  follower. 

By  the  fluctuations  of  O'Shea's  fortunes,  Joe's  whole  con- 
duct seemed  moulded.  When  the  world  went  well  with  his 
master,  his  manner  grew  somewhat  almost  respectful;  let 
the  times  grow  worse,  Joe  became  indifl'erent;  a  shade  lower, 
and  he  was  familiar  and  insolent;  and,  by  long  habit, 
O'Shea  had  come  to  recognize  these  changes  as  part  of  the 
condition  of  a  varying  fortune. 

Little  wonder  was  it  that  Joe  grew  to  speak  of  his  master 
and  himself  as  one,  complaining,  as  he  would,  "We  never 
got  sixpence  out  of  our  property.  'T  is  the  ruin  of  us  pay- 
ing that  annuity  to  our  mother;  "  and  so  on. 

Now,  these  considerations,  and  many  others  like  them, 
weighed  deeply  on  O'Shea's  mind,  as  he  entered  the  room 
of  the  hotel,  angry  and  irritated,  doubtless,  but  far  from 
decided  as  to  how  he  should  manifest  it.  Indeed,  the  delib- 
eration was  cut  short,  for  there  stood  Joe  before  him. 

"I  thought  I  was  never  to  see  your  face  again,"  said 
O'Shea,  scowling  at  him.  "How  dare  you  have  the  inso- 
lence to  appear  before  me  ?  " 

"Is  n't  it  well  for  you  that  I  'm  alive?  Ain't  you  lucky 
that  you  're  not  answering  for  my  death  this  minute?  "  said 
the  other,  boldly.  "And  if  I  did  n't  drive  like  blazes,  would 
I  be  here  now?  Appear  before  you,  indeed!  I'd  like  to 
know  who  you  'd  be  appearin'  before,  if  I  was  murthered 
with  them  bitthers  you  gave  me?" 

"  Lying  scoundrel !  you  think  to  turn  it  all  off  in  this  man- 
ner. You  commit  a  theft  first,  and  if  the  offence  had  killed 
you,  it 's  no  more  than  you  deserved.  Who  told  you  to  steal 
the  contents  of  that  bag,  sir?" 

"  The  devil,  I  suppose,  for  I  never  felt  pain  like  it,  — 


A  MASTER  AND   MAN.  169 

twistin'    and   tearin'    and   torturin'    me   as   if   you   had   a 
pinchers  in  my  inside,  and  were  nippin'  me  to  pieces!  " 

"I  'm  glad  of  it,  — heartily  glad  of  it." 

"  I  know  you  are, —  I  know  you  well.  'T  is  a  corpse  you  'd 
like  to  see  me  this  minute." 

"So  that  I  never  set  eyes  on  you,  I  don't  care  whiit  be- 
comes of  you." 

"That 's  enough,  —  enough  said.     I  'm  goin'." 

"Go,  and  be !" 

"No,  I  won't.  I  '11  go  and  earn  my  livin' ;  and  I  '11  have 
my  carakter,  too,  —  eleven  years  last  Lady-day ;  and  I  '11  be 
paid  back  to  my  own  counthry ;  and  I  '11  have  my  wages 
up  to  Saturday  next;  and  the  docther's  bill,  here,  for  all  the 
stuff  I  tuk  since  I  came  in;  and  when  you  are  ready  with  all 
this,  you  can  ring  for  me."  And  with  his  hands  clasped 
over  his  stomach,  and  in  a  half-bent  position,  Joe  shuffled 
out  and  left  his  master  to  his  own  reflections. 

The  world  is  full  of  its  strange  vicissitudes,  and  in  noth- 
ing more  remarkably  than  the  way  people  are  reconciled, 
ignore  the  past,  and  start  afresh  in  life  to  incur  more  dis- 
agreements, and  set  to  bickering  again.  Great  kings  and 
kaisers  indulge  in  this  pastime;  profound  statesmen  and 
politicians  do  very  little  else.  What  wonder,  then,  if  the 
declining  sun  saw  the  smart  tandem  slipping  along  towards 
the  Bagni,  with  the  O'Shea  and  his  man  sitting  side  by  side 
in  pleasant  converse!  They  were  both  smoking,  and  seemed 
like  men  who  enjoyed  their  picturesque  drive,  and  the  in- 
spiriting pace  they  travelled  at. 

"When  I'll  singe  these  'cat  hairs'  off,  and  trim  him  a 
little  about  the  head,  he  '11  look  twice  as  well,"  said  Joe, 
with  his  eye  on  the  leader.  "It's  a  pity  to  see  a  collar  on 
him." 

"We  '11  take  him  down  to  Rome,  and  show  him  off  over 
the  hurdles,"  said  his  master,  joyfully. 

"I  was  jiist  thinkin'  of  that  this  minute;  wasn't  that 
strange  now?" 

"AVe  '11  have  to  go,  for  they  're  going  to  break  up  house 
here,  and  go  off  to  Rome  for  the  winter." 

"How  will  we  settle  with  Pan?"  said  Joe,  thoughtfully. 
"A  bill,  I  suppose." 


170  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Joe  shook  his  head  doubtingly.     "I  'm  afraid  not." 

"Go  I  will,  and  go  I  must,"  said  O'Shea,  resolutely. 
"I  'm  not  going  to  lose  the  best  chance  I  ever  had  in  life  for 
the  sake  of  a  beggarly  innkeeper." 

"Why  would  you?  Sui-e,  no  one  would  ask  you!  For, 
after  all,  'tis  only  drivin'  away,  if  we  're  put  to  it.  I  don't 
think  he  'd  overtake  us." 

"Not  if  we  went  the  same  pace  you  did  this  morning, 
Joe,"  said  O'Shea,  laughing;  and  Joe  joined  pleasantly  in 
the  laugh,  and  the  event  ceased  to  be  a  grievance  from  that 
instant. 


CHAPTER  XVin. 

MRS.    MORRIS    AS    COUNSELLOR. 

The  breakfast  at  the  Villa  Caprini  always  seemed  to  recall 
more  of  English  daily  life  and  habit  than  any  other  event 
of  the  day.  It  was  not  only  in  the  luxuriously  spread  table, 
and  the  sideboard  arrayed  with  that  picturesque  profusion 
so  redolent  of  home,  but  there  was  that  gay  and  hearty 
familiarity  so  eminently  the  temper  of  the  hour,  and  that 
pleasant  interchange  of  news  and  gossip,  as  each  tore  the 
envelope  of  his  letter,  or  caught  some  amusing  paragraph  in 
his  paper. 

Mrs.  Penthony  Morris  had  a  very  wide  correspondence, 
and  usually  contributed  little  scraps  of  intelligence  from 
various  parts  of  the  Continent.  They  were  generally  the 
doings  and  sayings  of  that  cognate  world  whose  names  re- 
quire no  introduction,  and  even  those  to  whom  they  are 
unfamiliar  would  rather  hear  in  silence  than  own  to  the 
ignorance.  The  derelicts  of  fashion  are  the  staple  of 
small-talk ;  they  are  suggestive  of  all  the  little  social  smart- 
ness one  hears,  and  of  that  very  Brummagem  morality  which 
assumes  to  judge  them.  In  these  Mrs.  Morris  revelled.  No 
paragraph  of  the  "Morning  Post"  was  too  mysteriously 
worded  for  her  powers  of  interpretation  ;  no  asterisks  could 
veil  a  name  from  her  piercing  gaze.  Besides,  she  had  fash- 
ioned a  sort  of  algebraic  code  of  life  which  wonderfully  as- 
sisted her  divination,  and  being  given  an  unhappy  marriage, 
she  could  foretell  the  separation,  or,  with  the  data  of  a 
certain  old  gentleman's  visits  to  St.  John's  Wood,  could  pre- 
dict his  will  with  an  accuracy  that  seemed  marvellous.  As 
she  sat,  surrounded  with  letters  and  notes  of  all  sizes,  she 
varied  the  tone  of  her  intelligence  so  artfully  as  to  canvass 


172  ONE   OF  THEM. 

the  suffrage  of  every  listener.  Now  it  was  some  piece  of 
court  gossip,  some  "  scandal  of  Queen  Elizabeth,"  now  a 
curious  political  intrigue,  and  now,  again,  some  dashing  ex- 
ploit of  a  young  soldier  in  India.  But  whether  it  told  of 
good  or  evil  fortune,  of  some  deeply  interesting  event  or 
some  passing  triviality,  her  power  of  narrating  it  was  con- 
siderable, as,  with  a  tact  all  her  own,  she  selected  some 
one  especial  individual  as  chief  listener.  After  a  number  of 
short  notices  of  London,  Rome,  and  Paris,  she  tossed  over 
several  letters  carelessly,  saying,  — 

"  I  believe  I  have  given  you  the  cream  of  my  correspond- 
ence. Stay,  here  is  something  about  your  old  sloop  the 
'  Mosquito,'  Lord  Agincourt ;  would  you  like  to  hear  of  how 
she  attacked  the  forts  at  the  mouth  of  the  —  oh,  how  shall  I 
attack  it  ?  —  the  Bhageebhahoo  ?  This  is  a  midshipman's 
letter,  written  the  same  evening  of  the  action." 

Though  the  question  was  addressed  very  pointedly,  the 
boy  never  heard  it,  but  sat  deeply  engaged  in  deciphering  a 
very  jagged  handwriting  in  a  letter  before  him.  It  was  one 
of  those  scratchy,  unfinished  specimens  of  penmanship  which 
are  amongst  the  luxuries  persons  of  condition  occasionally 
indulge  in.  Seeing  his  preoccupation,  Mrs.  Morris  did  not 
repeat  her  question,  but  suffered  him  to  pursue  his  researches 
undisturbed.  He  had  just  begun  his  breakfast  when  the 
letter  arrived,  and  now  he  ceased  to  eat  anything,  but  seemed 
entirely  engrossed  by  his  news.  At  last  he  arose  abruptly, 
and  left  the  room. 

"  I  hope  Agincourt  has  not  got  any  bad  tidings,"  said  Sir 
"William  ;  "  he  seems  agitated  and  uneasy." 

"I  saw  his  guardian's  name  —  Sommerville  —  on  the 
envelope,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "It  is,  probably,  one  of  those 
pleasant  epistles  which  wards  receive  quarterly  to  remind 
them  that  even  minors  have  miseries." 

The  meal  did  not  recover  its  pleasant  tone  after  this  little 
incident,  and  soon  after  they  all  scattered  through  the  house 
and  the  grounds,  Mrs.  Morris  setting  out  for  her  usual 
woodland  walk,  which  she  took  each  morning.  A  half- 
glance  the  boy  had  given  her  as  he  quitted  the  room  at 
break  fast- time,  induced  her  to  believe  that  he  wanted  to 
consult   her   about   his   letter,  and  so,   as  she  entered   the 


MRS.   MORRIS  AS  COUNSELLOR. 


173 


shrubbery,  she  was  not  surprised  to  find  Lord  Agincourt  there 
before  her, 

"  I  was  just  wishing  it  might  be  your  footstep  I  heard 
on  the  gravel,"  said  he,  joining  her.  "  May  I  keep  you 
company?" 

"To  be  sure,  provided  you  don't  make  love  to  me,  which 
I  never  permit  in  the  forenoon." 


"Oh,  I  have  other  thoughts  in  ray  head,"  said  he,  sighing 
drearily;  "  and  you  are  the  very  one  to  advise  me  what  to 
do.  Not,  indeed,  that  I  have  any  choice  about  that,  only 
how  to  do  it,  that's  the  question." 

"  When  one  has  the  road  marked  out,  it 's  never  very 
hard  to  decide  on  the  mode  of  the  journey,"  said  she.  "  Tell 
me  what  your  troubles  are." 

"  Troubles  you  may  well  call  them,"  said  he,  with  a  deeper 
sigh.  "There,  read  that — if  you  can  read  it  —  for  the 
old  Earl  does  not  grow  more  legible  by  being  older." 


174  ONE   OF   THEM. 

"'Crews  Court,'"  read  she,  aloud.  "Handsome  old 
abbey  it  must  be,"  added  she,  remarking  on  a  little  tinted 
sketch  at  the  top  of  the  letter. 

"Yes,  that's  a  place  of  mine.  I  was  born  there,"  said 
the  boy,  half  proudly. 

"  It's  quite  princely." 

"  It's  a  fine  old  thing,  and  I'd  give  it  all  this  minute  not 
to  have  had  that  disagreeable  letter." 

"'My  dear  Hem-y,'"  began  she,  in  a  low,  muttering 
voice,  "  '  I  have  heard  with  —  with '  —  not  abomination  —  oh 
no,  '  astonishment  —  with  astonishment,  not  unmixed  with ' 
—  it  can't  be  straw  —  is  it  straw?  —  no,  it  is  '  shame,  —  not 
unmixed  with  shame,  that  you  have  so  far  forgiven  —  for- 
gotten '  —  oh,  that 's  it  —  '  what  was  done  to  yourself.'  " 

"No,  'what  was  due  to  yourself,'"  interrupted  he; 
"that's  a  favorite  word  of  his,  and  so  I  know  it." 

"'To  become  the — the'  —  dear  me,  what  can  this  be 
with  the  vigorous  G  at  the  beginning  ?  —  'to  become  '  —  is  it 
really  the  Giant ?  —  'to  become  the  Giant '  —  " 

The  boy  here  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughing,  and,  taking  the 
letter  from  her,  proceeded  to  read  it  out. 

"  I  have  spelt  it  all  over  five  times,"  said  he,  "  and  I  know 
it  by  heart.  '  I  have  heard  with  astonishment,  not  unmixed 
with  shame,  that  you  have  so  far  forgotten  what  was  due  to 
yourself  as  to  become  the  Guest  of  one  who  for  so  many 
years  was  the  political  opponent  and  even  personal  enemy  of 
our  house.  Your  ignorance  of  family  history  cannot  possi- 
bly be  such  as  that  you  are  unaware  of  the  claims  once  put 
forward  by  this  same  Sir  William  Heathcote  to  your  father's 
peerage,  or  of  the  disgraceful  law  proceedings  instituted  to 
establish  his  pretensions.'  As  if  I  ever  heard  a  word  of  all 
this  before !  as  if  I  knew  or  cared  a  brass  button  about  the 
matter  !  "  burst  he  in.  "  '  Had  your  tutor'  —  here  comes  in 
my  poor  coach  for  his  turn,"  said  Agincourt  —  "  '  had  your 
tutor  but  bestowed  proper  attention  to  the  instructions 
written  by  my  own  hand  for  his  guidance  — '  We  never 
could  read  them ;  we  have  been  at  them  for  hours  together, 
and  all  we  could  make  out  was,  '  Let  him  study  hazard, 
roulette,  and  all  other  such  games ; '  which  rather  surprised 
us,  till  we  found  out  it  was  '  shun,'  and  not  '  study,'  and  '  only 


MRS.  MORRIS  AS  COUNSELLOR.  175 

frequent  the  fast  society  of  each  city  he  visits,'  which  was  a 
mistake  for  '  first.'" 

"  Certainly  the  noble  Lord  has  a  most  ambiguous  calligra- 
phy," said  she,  smiling ;  "  and  Mr.  Layton  is  not  so  culpable 
as  might  be  imagined." 

"Ah!"  cried  the  boy,  laughing,  "I  wish  j^ou  had  seen 
Alfred's  face  on  the  day  he  received  our  first  quarter's  remit- 
tance, and  read  out :  '  You  may  drag  on  me  like  a  mouse,  if 
you  please,'  which  was  intended  to  be,  '  draw  upon  me  to  a 
like  amount,  if  you  please ; '  and  it  was  three  weeks  before 
we  could  make  that  out !  But  let  me  go  on  —  where  was  I? 
Oh,  at  '  guidance.'  '  Recent  information  has,  however, 
shown  me  that  nothing  could  have  been  more  unfortunate 
than  our  choice  of  this  young  man,  his  father  being  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  individuals  known  to  the  police,  a  man 
familiar  with  the  lowest  haunts  of  crime,  a  notorious  swin- 
dler, and  a  libeller  by  profession.  In  the  letter  which  I  send 
off  by  this  day's  post  to  your  tutor  I  have  enclosed  one  from 
his  father  to  myself.  It  is  not  very  likely  that  he  will  show 
it  to  you,  as  it  contains  the  most  insolent  demands  for  an 
increase  of  salary  —  "as  some  slight,  though  inadequate, 
compensation  for  an  office  unbecoming  my  son's  rank,  insult- 
ing to  his  abilities,  and  even  damaging  to  his  acquirements." 
I  give  you  this  in  his  own  choice  language,  but  there  is  much 
more  in  the  same  strain.  The  man,  it  would  appear,  has 
just  come  out  of  a  lunatic  as3'lum,  to  which  place  liis  intem- 
perate habits  had  brought  him ;  and  I  may  mention  that  his 
first  act  of  gratitude  to  the  benevolent  individual  who  had 
undertaken  the  whole  cost  of  his  maintenance  there  was  to 
assault  him  in  the  open  street,  and  give  him  a  most  savage 
beating.  Captain  Hone  or  Holmes  —  a  distinguished  offi- 
cer, as  I  am  told  —  is  still  confined  to  his  room  from  the 
consequences.'  " 

"  How  very  dreadful !  "  said  Mrs.  Morris  calmly.  "  Shock- 
ing treatment !   for  a  distinguished  officer  too !  " 

"  Dreadful  fellow  he  must  be,"  said  the  boy.  "What  a 
rare  fright  he  must  have  given  my  old  guardian !  But  the 
end  of  it  all  is,  I  'm  to  leave  Alfred,  and  go  back  to  England 
at  once.  I  wish  I  was  going  to  sea  again  ;  I  wish  I  was  off 
thousands  of  miles  away,  and  not  to  come  home  for  years. 


176  ONE   OF  THEM. 

To  part  with  the  kind,  good  fellow,  that  was  like  a  brother 
to  rae,  this  way,  —  how  can  I  do  it?  And  do  you  perceive, 
he  has  n't  one  word  to  say  against  Alfred  ?  It 's  only  that  he 
has  the  misfortune  of  this  terrible  father.  And,  after  all, 
might  not  that  be  any  one  's  lot?  You  might  have  a  father 
you  couldn't  help  being  ashamed  of." 

"Of  course,"  said  she;  "I  can  fancy  such  a  case  easily 
enough." 

"I  know  it  will  nearly  kill  poor  Alfred  ;  he  '11  not  be  able 
to  bear  it.  He  's  as  proud  as  he  is  clever,  and  he  '11  not 
endure  the  tone  of  the  Earl's  letter.  Who  knows  what  he  '11 
do?     Can  you  guess?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  imagine  that  he  '11  submit  as  patiently 
as  he  can,  and  look  out  for  another  situation." 

"  Ah,  there  you  don't  know  him  !  "  broke  in  the  boy  :  "  he 
can't  endure  this  kind  of  thing.  He  only  consented  to  take 
me  because  his  health  was  breaking  up  from  hard  reading ; 
he  wanted  rest  and  a  change  of  climate.  At  first  he  refused 
altogether,  and  only  gave  way  when  some  of  his  college  dons 
over-persuaded  him." 

She  smiled  a  half-assent,  but  said  nothing. 

"Then  there's  another  point,"  said  he,  suddenly:  "I'm 
sure  his  Lordship  has  not  been  very  measured  in  the  terms 
of  his  letter  to  him.  I  can  just  fancy  the  tone  of  it ;  and  I 
don't  know  how  poor  Alfred  is  to  bear  that." 

"My  dear  boy,  you'll  learn  one  of  these  days  —  and  the 
knowledge  will  come  not  the  less  soon  from  your  being  a  Peer 
—  that  all  the  world  is  either  forbearing  or  overbearing.  You 
must  be  wolf  or  lamb  :  there  's  no  help  for  it." 

"  Alfred  never  told  me  so,"  said  he,  sternly. 

"It's  more  than  likely  that  he  did  not  know  !  There  are 
no  men  know  less  of  life  than  these  college  creatures ;  and 
there  lies  the  great  mistake  in  selecting  such  men  for  tutors 
for  our  present-day  life  and  its  accidents.  Alexandre  Dumas 
would  be  a  safer  guide  than  Herodotus  ;  and  Thackeray  teach 
you  much  more  than  Socrates." 

"  If  I  only  had  in  my  head  one-half  of  what  Alfred  knew, 
I  'd  be  well  satisfied,"  said  the  boy.  "  Ay,  and  what 's  better 
still,  without  his  thinking  a  bit  about  it." 

"And  so,"  said  she,  musingly,  "you  are  to  go  back  to 
England  ?  " 


MRS.   MORRIS   AS   COUNSELLOR.  177 

"  That  does  not  seem  quite  settled,  for  he  says,  in  a  post- 
script, that  Sir  George  Rivers,  one  of  the  Cabinet,  I  believe, 
has  mentioned  some  gentleman,  a  '  member  of  their  party,' 
now  in  Italy,  and  who  would  probably  consent  to  take  charge 
of  me  till  some  further  arrangements  could  be  come  to." 

"  Hold  your  chain  till  a  new  bear-leader  turned  up !  "  said 
she,  laughing.  "  Oh  dear  !  I  wonder  when  that  wise  genera- 
tions of  guardians  will  come  to  know  that  the  real  guide  for 
the  creatures  like  you  is  a  woman.  Yes,  you  ought  to  be 
travelling  with  your  governess,  —  some  one  whose  ladylike 
tone  and  good  manners  would  insensibly  instil  quietness, 
reserve,  and  reverence  in  your  breeding,  correct  your  bad 
French,  and  teach  you  to  enter  or  leave  a  room  without 
seeming  to  be  a  housebreaker !  " 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  does  that?"  asked  he,  indig- 
nantly. 

"  Every  one  of  you  young  Englishmen,  whether  you  come 
fresh  from  Brasenose  or  the  Mess  of  the  Forty-something, 
you  have  all  of  you  the  same  air  of  bashful  bull-dogs !  " 

"Oh,  come,  this  is  too  bad;  is  this  the  style  of  Charles 
Heathcote,  for  instance?" 

"Most  essentialh'  it  is;  the  only  thing  is  that,  the  bull- 
dog element  predominating  in  his  nature,  he  appears  the 
less  awkward  in  consequence." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  what  you  'd  say  of  the  O'Shea." 

"  Oh,  Mr.  O'Shea  is  an  Irishman,  and  their  ways  bear  the 
same  relation  to  general  good  breeding  that  rope-dancing  does 
to  waltzing." 

"  I  '11  take  good  care  not  to  ask  you  for  any  description  of 
myself,"  said  he,  laughingly. 

"  You  are  very  wrong  then,  for  you  should  have  heard 
something  excessively  flattering,"  was  her  reply.  "  Shall  I 
tell  you  who  your  new  protector  is  to  be  ?  "  cried  she,  after 
a  moment's  pause;  "I  have  just  guessed  it:  the  O'Shea 
himself ! " 

"O'Shea!  impossible;  how  could  you  imagine  such  a 
thing?  " 

"I'm  certain  I'm  right.  He  is  always  talking  of  his 
friend  Sir  George  Rivers — he  calls  him  Rivers,  —  who  is 
Colonial  Secretary,  and  who  is  to  make  him  either  Bishop 
12 


178  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  Barbadoes  or  a  Gold  Stick  at  the  Gambria ;  and  you  '11 
see  if  I  'm  not  correct,  and  that  the  wardship  of  a  young 
scapegrace  lordling  is  to  be  the  retaining  fee  of  this  faith- 
ful follower  of  his  party.  Of  course,  there  will  be  no 
question  of  tutorship ;  in  fact,  it  would  have  such  an  un- 
pleasant resemblance  to  the  farce  and  Mr.  O'Toole,  as  to 
be  impossible.  You  will  simply  be  travelling  together. 
It  will  be  double  harness,  but  only  one  horse  doing  the 
work !  " 

"I  never  can  make  out  whether  you're  in  jest  or  in 
earnest."  said  he,  pettishly. 

"I'm  always  in  earnest  when  I'm  jesting;  that's  the 
only  clue  I  can  give  you." 

"  But  all  this  time  we  have  been  wandering  away  from 
the  onl}-  thing  I  wanted  to  think  of,  —  how  to  part  with 
dear  Alfred.     You  have  told  me  nothing  about  that." 

"  These  are  things  which,  as  the  French  say,  always  do 
themselves,  and,  consequently,  it  is  better  never  to  plan  or 
provide  for;  and,  remember,  as  a  maxim,  whenever  the  cur- 
rent is  carrying  you  the  way  you  want  to  go,  put  in  your  oar 
as  little  as  possible.  And  as  to  old  associations,  they  are  like 
old  boots :  they  are  very  pleasant  wear,  but  they  won't  last 
forever.  There  now,  I  have  given  you  quite  enough  matter 
to  think  over :  and  so,  good-bye." 

As  Agincourt  turned  his  steps  slowly  towards  the  house, 
he  marvelled  with  himself  what  amount  of  guidance  she 
had  given  him. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

joe's  diplomacy. 

Mr.  O'Shea's  man  was  not  one  to  put  his  light  under  a 
bushel ;  so,  when  he  received  at  the  post-office  a  very  poi-- 
tentous-looking  letter,  heavily  sealed,  and  marked  "On  Her 
Majesty's  Service,"  he  duly  stopped  the  two  or  three  English 
loungers  he  saw  about  to  show  them  the  document,  on  pre- 
tence of  asking  if  any  demand  for  postage  could  be  made ; 
if  it  had  not  been  wrongfully  detained ;  if  they  thought  it 
had  been  opened  and  read ;  and  so  on,  —  all  these  inquiries 
having  for  their  object  to  inform  the  general  public  that  the 
Member  for  Inch  was  in  close  relation  and  correspondence 
with  Downing  Street. 

In  sooth,  the  letter  had  as  significant  an  external  as  any 
gentleman  in  pursuit  of  a  place  might  have  desired.  In 
color,  texture,  and  fashion  there  was  nothing  wanting  to  its 
authenticity,  and  it  might,  without  any  disparagement  to 
its  outside,  have  named  Mr.  O'Shea  a  Governor  of  the 
Bahamas,  or  a  Mahogany  Commissioner  at  Ruatan.  It 
was,  in  fact,  a  document  that,  left  negligently  in  the  way, 
might  have  made  a  dun  appeasable,  and  a  creditor  patient. 
There  were  few  men  it  might  not  in  some  degree  have  im- 
posed on,  but  of  that  few  the  O'Shea  himself  was  one.  He 
knew  well  —  too  well  —  that  it  foretold  neither  place  nor 
employment;  that  it  was  the  shell  of  a  very  small  kernel; 
nothing  more,  in  short,  than  a  note  from  an  old  friend  and 
schoolfellow,  then  acting  as  the  Private  Secretary  of  a 
Cabinet  Minister,  — one  who,  indeed,  kept  his  friend  O'Shea 
fully  informed  as  to  everything  that  fell  vacant,  but,  unhap- 
pily, accompanied  the  intelligence  with  a  catalogue  of  the 
applicants,  usually  something  like  the  list  of  the  Smiths  in 
a  Directory. 


180  ONE   OF  THEM. 

So  little  impatient  was  O'Shea  for  the  contents,  that  he 
had  half  eaten  his  breakfast  and  looked  through  "  Punch  " 
before  he  broke  the  seal.  The  enclosure  was  from  the  hand 
of  his  friend  Tom  Radwell,  but  whose  peculiar  drollery  it 
was  to  correspond  in  the  form  of  a  mock  despatch.  The 
note,  therefore,  though  merely  containing  gossip,  was  written 
with  all  attention  to  margin  and  calligraphy,  and  even  in 
places  affected  the  solemn  style  of  the  Office.  It  was  headed 
"Secret  and  Confidential,"  and  opened  thus:  — 

"Sir,  —  By  your  despatch  of  the  18th  ult.,  containing  four  en- 
closures,—  three  protested  bills,  and  your  stepmother's  I  O  for  18/. 
5s.,  —  I  am  induced  to  believe  that  no  material  change  has  occurred 
in  the  situation  of  your  affairs,  —  a  circumstance  the  more  to  be 
deplored,  inasmuch  as  her  Majesty's  Government  cannot  at  this 
moment,  with  that  due  regard  imposed  on  them  for  the  public 
service,  undertake  either  to  reconsider  your  claims,  or  by  an  extra- 
ordinary exercise  of  the  powers  vested  in  them  by  the  Act  of  Teddy 
the  Tiler,  chap.  4,  sees.  9  and  10,  appoint  you  in  the  way  and  man- 
ner you  propose.  So  much,  my  dear  Gorman,  old  Rivers  declared 
to  me  this  morning,  confidentially  adding,  I  wish  that  Irish  party 
■would  understand  that,  when  we  could  buy  them  altogether  in  a 
basket,  as  in  O'Connell's  day,  the  arrangement  was  satisfactory;  but 
to  have  to  purchase  them  separately  —  each  potato  by  himself  —  is 
a  terrible  loss  of  time,  and  leads  to  no  end  of  higgling.  Why  can't 
you  agree  amongst  yourselves,  —  make  your  bargain,  and  then  divide 
the  spoils  quietly  ?  It  is  the  way  your  forefathers  understood  the 
law  of  commonage,  and  nobody  ever  grumbled  that  his  neighbor  had 
a  cow  or  a  pig  too  many  !  The  English  of  all  this  is,  they  don't 
want  you  just  now,  and  they  won't  have  you,  for  you  're  an  article 
that  never  kept  well,  and,  even  when  bonded,  your  loss  by  leakage  is 
considerable. 

"  Every  Irishman  I  ever  met  makes  the  same  mistake  of  offering 
himself  for  sale  when  the  commodity  is  not  wanted.  If  you  see 
muffs  and  boas  in  Regent  Street  in  July,  ain't  they  always  ticketed 
'  a  great  sacrifice '  ?  Can't  you  read  the  lesson  ?  But  so  it  is  with 
you.  You  fancy  you  '11  induce  people  to  travel  a  bad  road  by  put- 
ting up  a  turnpike. 

"  I  'm  sorry  to  say  all  this  to  you,  but  I  see  plainly  politics  will  not 
do  any  longer  as  a  pursuit.  It  is  not  only  that  all  appointments  are 
so  scrutinized  nowadays,  but  that  every  man's  name  in  a  division  is 
weighed  and  considered  in  a  fashion  that  renders  a  mere  majority  of 
less  moment  than  the  fact  of  how  it  was  composed.  If  1  cannot 
manage  something  for  you  in  the  West  Indies,  you  must  try 
Cheltenham. 


JOE'S  DIPLOMACY.  181 

"  Rivers  has  just  sent  for  me. 

"  '  What  of  your  friend  O'Shea?  Did  n't  you  tell  me  he  was  in 
the  north  of  Italy  ?  ' 

'•'Yes,'  said  I;  'he's  getting  up  the  Italian  question.  He  has 
accumulated  a  mass  of  facts  which  will  astonish  the  House  next 
session.' 

'•  '  Confound  his  facts !  '  muttered  he.  '  Here  has  been  Lord 
Sommerville  with  nie,  about  some  young  ward  of  his.  I  don't  well 
understand  what  he  wants,  or  what  he  wishes  me  to  do ;  but  the 
drift  is,  to  find  some  one  —  a  gentleman,  of  course  —  who  would  take 
charge  of  the  boy  for  a  short  time;  he  is  a  marquis,  with  large  ex- 
pectations, and  one  day  or  other  will  be  a  man  of  mark.' 

"  I  tried  the  dignity  tone,  but  old  Kivers  interrupted  me  quickly,  — 

" '  Yes,  yes,  of  course.  Mere  companionship,  nothing  more. 
Sound  O'Shea  upon  it,  and  let  me  hear.' 

"  Here,  then,  my  dear  Gorman,  is  the  '  opening  '  you  so  long  have 
looked  for  ;  and  if  you  cannot  turn  such  a  position  to  good  profit, 
icho  can  ?  Nor  are  you  the  man  I  take  you  for,  if  you  're  not 
married  into  the  family  before  this  day  twelvemonth !  There  is  no 
time  to  be  lost,  so  telegraph  back  at  once.  A  simple  '  Yes '  will  do, 
if  vou  accept,  which  I  sincerely  hope  you  will.  All  the  minor  ar- 
rangements you  may  safely  trust  to  ??ie." 


When  Mr.  O'Shea  had  read  thus  far,  he  arose,  and,  walk- 
ing with  head  erect  and  well  thrown-out  chest  towards  the 
looking-glass,  he  desired  to  "take  stock  "  of  his  appearance, 
and  to  all  semblance  was  not  displeased  at  the  result.  He 
was  autuninalizing,  it  is  true;  tints  were  mellowing,  colors 
more  sombre ;  but,  on  the  whole,  there  was  nothing  in  the 
landscape,  viewed  at  due  distance  and  with  suitable  light, 
to  indicate  much  ravage  from  Time.  Your  hard-featured 
men,  like  mountains  in  scenery,  preserve  the  same  appear- 
ance unchanged  by  years.  It  is  your  genial  fellow,  with 
mobile  features,  that  suffers  so  terribly  from  age.  The 
plough  of  Time  leaves  deep  furrows  in  the  arable  soil  of 
such  faces.  As  in  those  frescos  which  depend  altogether 
on  color,  the  devastations  of  years  are  awfully  felt;  when 
black  degenerates  into  gray,  mellow  browns  grow  a  muddy 
yellow,  and  the  bright  touches  that  "accentuated  "  expression 
are  little  else  than  unmeaning  blotches!  If  the  jVIember  for 
Inch  had  not  travelled  far  upon  the  dreary  road,  I  am  bound 
in  truth  to  own  that  he  had  begun  the  journey.     A  light, 


182  ONE  OF  THEM. 

faint  silvering  showed  on  his  whiskers,  like  the  first  touch 
of  snow  on  an  Alpine  fern  in  October.  The  lines  that 
indicated  a  ready  aptitude  for  fun  had  deepened,  and  grown 
more  marked  at  the  angles  at  the  mouth,  —  a  sad  sign  of 
one  whose  wit  was  less  genial  and  more  biting  than  of 
yore.  Then  —  worst  of  all  —  he  had  entered  upon  the  pom- 
pous lustre  wherein  men  feel  an  exaggerated  self-importance, 
imagine  that  their  opinions  are  formed,  and  their  character 
matured.  Nothing  is  so  trying  as  that  quarantine  period, 
a,nd  both  men  and  women  make  more  egregious  fools  of 
themselves  in  it  than  in  all  the  wild  heydey  of  early  youth. 
I  Mr.  O'Shea,  however,  was  an  Irishman,  and,  in  virtue  of 
the  fact,  he  had  a  light,  jaunty,  semi-careless  way  with  him, 
which  is  a  sort  of  electroplate  youth,  and  looks  like  the  real 
article,  though  it  won't  prove  so  lasting. 

"I  must  have  a  look  into  the  Peerage,"  said  he,  as  he 
turned  to  the  bulky  volume  that  records  the  alliances  and 
the  ages  of  the  "upper  ten  thousand  ":  — 

"  '  Lady  Maria  Augusta  Sofronia  Montserrat,  born  ' — oh, 
by  the  powers,  that  won't  do!  — '  born  1804.'  Oh,  come, 
after  all,  it's  not  so  bad;  '  died  in  '46.  — Charlotte  Rose 
Leopoldine,  died  in  infancy.  — Henrietta  Louisa,  born  1815; 
married  in  1835  to  Lord  Julius  de  Raby;  again  married  to 
Prince  Beerstenshoften  von  Hahnsmarkt,  and  widowed  same 
year,  1846.'  I'll  put  a  mark  against  her.  And  there's 
one  more,  '  Juliana  de  Vere,  youngest  daughter,  born  '26  '  — 
that 's  the  time  of  day!  —  born  '26,  and  no  more  said.  The 
paragraph  has  yet  to  be  filled  with,  '  Married  to  the  O'Shea, 
Member  of  Parliament  for  luchabogue,  High  Sheriff  of  Tip- 
perary,  and  head  of  the  ancient  cept  known  as  O'Meadhlin 
Shamdoodhlin  Naboklish  O'Shea'  —  I  wonder  if  they  'd  put 
it  in  —  'formerly  Kings  of  Tulloch  Reardhin  and  Bare-ma- 
bookle,  and  all  the  countries  west  of  the  Galtee  Moun- 
tains.' If  pedigree  would  do  it,  O'Shea  may  call  himself 
first  favorite!  And  now.  Miss  Leslie,"  continued  he,  aloud, 
"you  have  no  time  to  lose;  make  your  bidding  quickly,  or 
the  O'Shea  will  be  knocked  down  to  another  purchaser. 
As  Eugene  Aram  says,  '  I  'm  equal  to  either  fortune.'  " 

"Well,"  said  Joe,  entering  the  room,  and  approaching  his 
master  confidentially,  "is  it  a  place?" 


JOE'S   DIPLOMACY.  183 

"Nothing  of  the  kind;  a  friendly  letter  from  a  member  of 
the  Cabinet,"  replied  he,  carelessly. 

"Devil  take  them!  It  isn't  friendship  we  want;  it's 
something  to  live  on." 

"You  are  a  low-minded,  mercenary  creature,"  said 
O'Shea,  oratorically.  "Is  our  happiness  in  this  life,  our 
self-respect,  our  real  worth,  dependent  upon  the  accident  of 
our  station,  or  upon  the  place  we  occupy  in  the  affections  of 
men,  —  what  we  possess  of  their  sympathy  and  love  ?  I  look 
around  me,  and  what  do  I  see  ? " 

"Sorra  bit  of  me  knows,"  broke  in  Joe. 

Unmindful  of  the  interruption,  O'Shea  continued:  "I  see 
the  high  places  occupied  by  the  crafty,  the  subtle,  and  the 
scheming." 

"I  wish  we  had  one  of  them,"  muttered  Joe. 

"I  see  that  humble  merit  shivers  at  the  door,  while  inso- 
lent pretension  struts  proudly  in." 

"Ay,  and  more  power  to  him,  if  he  's  able,"  grumbled  out 
the  other. 

"I  see  more,"  said  O'Shea,  raising  his  voice,  and  extend- 
ing his  arm  at  full  length,  —  "I  see  a  whole  nation,  —  eight 
millions  of  men,  —  great,  glorious,  and  gifted,  —  men  whose 
genius  has  shed  a  lustre  over  the  dull  swamp  of  their 
oppressors'    nature,    but   who   one   day,    rising    from    her 


"Ah!  by  my  conscience,  I  knew  it  was  comin' ;  and  I 
said  to  myself,  '  Here  's  the  phaynix! '  " 

"  Rising  from  her  ashes  like  the  Megatherion  of  Thebes. 
Where  are  you  now,  Master  Joe?"  said  he,  with  an  insolent 
triumph  in  his  look. 

"I  'd  just  as  soon  have  the  phaynix,"  said  Joe,  doggedly. 
"Go  on." 

"How  can  I  go  on?  How  could  any  man?  Demosthenes 
himself  would  stand  confused  in  presence  of  such  vulgar 
interruptions.  It  is  in  such  temperaments  as  yours  men  of 
genius  meet  their  worst  repulses.  You  are  at  once  the  ferm 
natnroi  of  humanity,  and  the  pestilential  atmosphere  that 
poisons  —  that  poisons  —  " 

"Oh!  there  you  are  '  pounded  ' !     Poisons  what?  " 

"Poisons  the  pellucid  rills  which  should  fertilize  the  soul 


184  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  man!  I'm  never  pounded.  O'Connell  himself  had  to 
confess  that  he  never  saw  my  equal  in  graceful  imagery  and 
figurative  embellishment.  'Listening  to  O'Shea,'  says  he, 
'  is  like  watching  a  juggler  with  eight  balls  flying  round  and 
about  him.  You  may  think  it  impossible  he  '11  be  in  time, 
but  never  one  of  them  will  he  fail  to  catch.'  That's  what 
/  call  oratory.  Why  is  it,  I  ask,  that,  when  I  rise  in  the 
house,  you  'd  hear  a  pin  drop?  " 

"Maybe  they  steal  out  on  their  tiptoes,"  said  Joe, 
innocently. 

"  No,  sir,  they  stand  hushed,  eager,  anxious,  as  were  the 
Greeks  of  old  to  catch  the  words  of  Ulysses.     I  only  wish 

you  saw  old  P working  away  with  his  pencil  while  I  'm 

speaking." 

"Making  a  picture  of  you,  maybe!  " 

"You  are  as  insolent  as  you  are  ignorant,  —  one  of  those 
who,  in  the  unregenerate  brutality  of  their  coarse  nature, 
repel  the  attempts  of  all  who  would  advocate  the  popular 
cause.  I  have  said  so  over  and  over  again.  If  you  would 
constitute  yourself  the  friend  of  the  people,  take  care  to 
know  nothing  of  them;  neither  associate  with  them,  nor 
mix  in  their  society:  as  Tommy  Moore  said  of  Ireland, 
'It's  a  beautiful  country  to  live  out  of.'  " 

"And  he  was  a  patriot!  "  said  Joe,  contemptuously. 

"There  are  no  patriots  among  those  who  soar  above  the 
miserable  limits  of  a  nationality.  Genius  has  no  concern 
with  geographies.  To  think  for  the  million  you  must  forget 
the  man." 

"Say  that  again.  I  like  the  sound  of  that,"  cried  Joe, 
admiringly. 

"If  anything  could  illustrate  the  hopelessness  of  your 
class  and  condition  in  life,"  continued  O'Shea,  "it  is  your- 
self. There  you  are,  daily,  hourly  associating  with  one 
whose  sentiments  you  hear,  whose  opinions  you  learn,  whose 
judgments  you  record ;  one  eagerly  sought  after  in  society, 
revered  in  private,  honored  in  the  Senate;  and  what  have 
you  derived  from  these  unparalleled  advantages  ?  What  can 
you  say  has  been  the  benefit  from  these  relations  ?  " 

"It's  hard  to  say,"  muttered  Joe,  "except,  maybe,  it's 
made  me  a  philosopher." 


JOE'S  DIPLOMACY.  185 

"  A  philosopher !  —  you  a  philosopher !  " 

"Ay;  isn't  it  philosophy  to  live  without  wages,  and 
work  without  pay?  'Tis  from  yourself  I  heercl  that  the 
finest  thing  of  all  is  to  despise  money." 

"  So  it  is, —  so  it  would  be,  I  mean,  if  society  had  not  built 
up  that  flimsy  card  edifice  it  calls  civilization.  Put  out 
my  blue  pelisse  with  the  Astrachan  collar,  and  my  braided 
vest;  I  shall  want  to  go  over  to  the  Villa  this  morning. 
But,  first  of  all,  take  this  to  the  telegraph-office:  '  The 
O'Shea  accepts.'  " 

"Tear  and  ages!  what  is  it  we've  got?"  asked  Joe, 
eagerly. 

'"  The  O'Shea  accepts,'  —  four  words  if  they  charge  for 
the  '  O.'     Let  me  know  the  cost  at  once." 

"But  why  don't  you  tell  me  where  we're  going?  Is  it 
Jamaica  or  Jerusalem  ?  " 

"Call  your  philosophy  to  your  aid,  and  be  anxious  for 
nothing,"  said  O'Shea,  pompously.  "Away,  lose  no  more 
time." 

If  Joe  had  been  the  exponent  of  his  feelings,  as  he  left 
the  room,  he  would  probably  have  employed  his  favorite 
phrase,  and  confessed  himself  "humiliated."  He  certainly 
did  feel  acutely  the  indignity'  that  had  been  passed  upon 
him.  To  live  on  a  precarious  diet  and  no  pay  was  bad 
enough,  but  it  was  unendurable  that  his  master  should  cease 
to  consult  with  and  confide  in  him.  Amongst  the  ship- 
wrecked sufferers  on  a  raft,  gradations  of  rank  soon  cease 
to  be  remembered,  and  of  all  equalizers  there  is  none  like 
misery!  Now,  Mr.  O'Shea  and  his  man  Joe  had,  so  to  say, 
passed  years  of  life  upon  a  raft.  They  had  been  storm- 
tossed  and  cast  away  for  many  a  day.  Indeed,  to  push  the 
analogy  further,  they  had  more  than  once  drawn  lots  who 
should  be  first  devoured;  that  is  to  say,  they  had  tossed  up 
whose  watch  was  to  go  first  to  the  pawnbroker.  Now,  was 
it  fair  or  reasonable,  if  his  master  discovered  a  sail  in  the 
distance,  or  a  headland  on  the  horizon,  that  he  should  con- 
ceal the  consoling  fact,  and  leave  his  fellow-sufferer  to 
mourn  on  in  misery?  Joe  was  deeply  wounded;  he  was 
insulted  and  outraged. 

From  the  pain  of  his  personal  wrongs  he  was  suddenly 
aroused  by  the  telegraph  clerk's  demand  for  thirty  francs. 


186  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"Thirty  francs  for  four  words?" 

"You  might  send  twenty  for  the  same  sum,"  was  the 
bland  reply. 

"Faix,  and  so  we  will,"  said  Joe.  "Give  me  a  pen  and 
a  sheet  of  paper. " 

His  first  inspirations  were  so  full  of  vengeance  that  he 
actuall}'  meditated  a  distinct  refusal  of  whatever  it  was  had 
been  offered  to  his  master,  and  his  only  doubt  was  how  to 
convey  the  insolent  negative  in  its  most  outrageous  form. 
His  second  and  wiser  thoughts  suggested  a  little  diplomacy; 
and  though  both  the  consideration  and  the  mode  of  effectu- 
ating it  cost  no  small  labor,  we  shall  spare  the  reader's  pa- 
tience, and  give  him  the  result  arrived  at  after  nearly  an 
hour's  exertion,  the  message  transmitted  by  Joe  running 
thus : — 

"  Send  the  fullest  particulars  about  the  pay  and  the  name  of  the 
place  we  're  going  to. 

"O'Shea." 

"I  don't  think  there  will  be  many  secrets  after  I  see  the 
answer  to  that;  and  see  it  I  will,  if  I  tear  it  open!"  said 
Joe,  sturdily,  as  he  held  his  way  back  to  the  inn. 

A  rather  warm  discussion  ensued  on  the  subject  of  his 
long  absence,  O'Shea  remarking  that  for  all  the  use  Joe 
proved  himself  he  might  as  well  be  without  a  servant,  and 
Joe  rejoining  that,  for  the  matter  of  pay  and  treatment,  he 
might  be  pretty  nearly  as  well  off  if  he  had  no  master;  these 
polite  passages  being  interchanged  while  the  O'Shea  was 
busily  performing  with  two  hair-brushes,  and  Joe  equally 
industriously  lacing  his  master's  waistcoat,  with  an  artistic 
skill  that  the  valet  of  a  corpulent  gentleman  alone  attains 
to,  as  Joe  said  a  hundred  times. 

"I  wonder  why  I  endure  you,"  said  O'Shea,  as  he  jauntily 
settled  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  carefully  arranged 
the  hair  on  the  other. 

"And  you  '11  wondher  more,  when  I  'm  gone,  why  I  did  n't 
go  before,"  was  Joe's  surly  rejoinder. 

"How  did  you  come  by  that  striped  cravat,  sir?  "  asked 
O'Shea,  angrily,  as  he  caught  sight  of  Joe  in  front. 

"I  took  it  out  of  the  drawer." 


JOE'S   DIPLOMACY.  187 

"It's  mine,  then! " 

"It  was  wonst.  I  did  n't  suppose  you  'd  wear  it  after  what 
the  widow  woman  said  of  you  up  at  the  Villa,  —  that  Mrs. 
Morris.  '  Here  's  the  O'Shea,'  says  she,  '  masquerading 
as  a  zebra ; '  as  much  as  to  say  it  was  another  baste  you  was 
in  reality." 

"She  never  dared  to  be  so  insolent." 

"She  did;  I  heard  it  myself." 

"I  don't  believe  you;  I  never  do  believe  one  word  you 
say." 

"That 's  exactly  what  I  hear  whenever  I  say  you  're  a  man 
of  fine  fortune  and  good  estate ;  they  all  cry  out,  '  What  a 
lying  rascal  he  is !  '  " 

O'Shea  made  a  spring  towards  the  poker,  and  Joe  as 
rapidly  took  up  a  position  behind  the  dressing-glass. 

"Hush!"  cried  O'Shea,  "there's  some  one  at  the  door." 

And  a  loud  summons  at  the  same  time  confirmed  the 
words.  With  a  ready  instinct  Joe  speedily  recovered  him- 
self, and  hastened  to  open  it. 

"Is  your  master  at  home?"  asked  a  voice. 

"Oh^  Heathcote,  is  it  you?"  exclaimed  O'Shea;  "just 
step  into  the  next  room,  and  I  '11  be  with  you  in  a  second 
or  two.  Joe,  show  Captain  Heathcote  into  the  drawing- 
room." 

"  I  wondher  what 's  the  matter  with  him?  "  said  Joe,  confi- 
dentially, as  he  came  back.  "I  never  see  any  one  look  so 
low." 

"So  much  the  better,"  said  O'Shea,  merrily;  "it's  a  sign 
he  's  coming  to  pay  money.  When  a  man  is  about  to  put 
you  off  with  a  promise,  he  lounges  in  with  an  easy,  devil- 
may-care  look  that  seems  to  say,  '  It 's  all  one,  old  fellow, 
whether  you  have  an  I  O  or  the  ready  tin.'  " 

"There's  a  deal  of  truth  in  that,"  said  Joe,  approvingly, 
and  with  a  look  that  showed  how  pleasurable  it  was  to  him 
to  hear  such  words  of  wisdom. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A    DREARY    FORENOON. 

O'Shea  swaggered  into  the  room  where  Heathcote  was 
standing  to  await  him,  in  the  attitude  of  one  who  desired  to 
make  his  visit  as  brief  as  might  be. 

"How  good  of  you  to  drive  over  to  this  dreary  spot," 
began  the  Member,  jauntily,  "where  the  blue  devils  seem 
to  have  their  especial  home.  I  'm  hipped  and  bored  here 
as  I  never  was  before.  Come,  sit  down ;  have  you  break- 
fasted ?  " 

"Three  hours  ago." 

"Take  some  luncheon,  then;  a  glass  of  sherry,  at  least." 

"Nothing  —  thanks — it's  too  early." 

"Won't  you  have  even  a  weed?"  said  he,  opening  a 
cigar-box. 

"I  'm  provided,"  said  the  other,  showing  the  half  of  a  still 
lighted  cigar.  "I  came  over  this  morning,  hoping  to  catch 
you  at  home,  and  make  some  sort  of  settlement  about  our 
little  transactions  together." 

"My  dear  fellow,  you  surely  can't  think  it  makes  any 
matter  between  us.  I  hope  you  know  that  it  is  entirely  a 
question  for  your  own  convenience.  No  man  has  more 
experience  of  what  it  is  to  be  '  hit  hard,'  as  they  say. 
"When  I  first  came  out,  I  got  it.  By  Jove!  did  n't  I  get  it, 
and  at  both  sides  of  the  head  too.  It  was  Mopus's  year, 
when  the  Yorkshire  Lass  ran  a  dead  heat  with  Skyrocket  for 
the  Diddlesworth.  I  stood  seventeen  to  one,  in  thousands! 
think  of  that,  —  seventeen  thousand  pounds  to  one  against 
the  filly.  It  was  thought  so  good  a  thing  that  Naylor  —  old 
Jerry,  as  they  used  to  call  him  —  offered  me  a  clean  thou- 
sand to  let  him  take  half  the  wager.  But  these  are  old 
stories  now,  and  they  only  bore  you ;  in  fact,  it  was  just  to 
show  you  that  every  man  has  his  turn  —  " 


A 'DREARY  FORENOON.  189 

"I  own  frankly,"  broke  in  Heathcote,  "I  am  far  too  full 
of  selfish  cares  to  take  a  proper  interest  in  your  story.  Just 
tell  me  if  these  figures  are  correct  ?  "  And  he  turned  to  look 
out  for  a  particular  page  in  a  small  book. 

"Confound  figures !  I  wish  they  never  were  invented.  If 
one  only  thinks  of  all  the  hearty  fellows  they  've  set  by  the 
ears,  the  close  friendships  they  have  severed,  the  strong 
attachments  they  have  broken,  I  declare  one  would  be  justi- 
fied in  saying  it  was  the  devil  himself  invented  arithmetic." 

"I  wish  he  'd  have  made  it  easier  when  he  was  about  it," 
said  Heathcote. 

"Excellent,  by  Jove!  —  how  good!  '  Made  it  easier'  — 
capital!"  cried  O'Shea,  laughing  with  a  boisterous  jollity 
that  made  the  room  ring.  "I  hope  I  '11  not  forget  that.  I 
must  book  that  viot  of  yours." 

Heathcote  grew  crimson  with  shame,  and,  in  an  angry 
impulse,  pitched  his  cigar  into  the  fire. 

"That's  right,"  broke  in  O'Shea;  "these  are  far  better 
smoking  than  your  cheroots;  these  are  Hudson's  '  Grand 
Viziers,'  made  especially  for  Abba  Pasha's  own  smoking." 

Heathcote  declined  coldly,  and  continued  his  search 
through  his  note-book. 

"It  was  odd  enough,"  said  O'Shea,  "just  as  you  came  in 
I  was  balancing  in  my  own  mind  whether  I  'd  go  over  to  the 
Villa,  or  write  to  you." 

"Write  to  me!  "  said  the  other,  reddening. 

"Don't  be  scared;  it  was  not  to  dun  you.  No;  I  was 
meditating  whether  it  was  quite  fair  of  me  to  take  that  trap 
and  the  nags.  You  like  that  sort  of  thing;  it  suits  you 
too.  Now,  I  'm  sobering  down  into  the  period  of  Park 
phaetons  and  George  the  Fourths :  a  low  step  to  get  in,  and 
a  deep,  well-cushioned  seat,  with  plenty  of  leg  room;  that 's 
more  my  style.  As  Holditch  says,  '  The  O'Shea  wants  an 
armchair  upon  C  springs  and  Collinge's  patent.'  Free  and 
easy  that,  from  a  rascally  coachmaker,  eh  ? " 

"I  don't  want  the  horses.  I  have  no  use  for  them.  I  'm 
not  quite  clear  whether  you  valued  the  whole  thing  at  two 
hundred  and  fifty  or  three  hundred  and  fifty?" 

"We  said,  two  fifty,"  replied  O'Shea,  in  his  silkiest  of 
tones. 


190  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Be  it  so,"  muttered  Heathcote;  "I  gave  two  hundred  for 
the  chestnut  horse  at  Tattersall's." 

"He  was  dear,  — too  dear,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

"Esterhazy  called  him  the  best  horse  he  ever  bred." 

"He  shall  have  him  this  morning  for  a  hundred  and 
twenty." 

"Well,  well,"  burst  in  Heathcote,  "we  are  not  here  to  dis- 
pute about  that.  I  handed  you,  as  well  as  I  remember, 
eighty  and  two  hundred  and  thirty  Naps." 

"More  than  that,  I  think,"  said  O'Shea,  thoughtfully,  and 
as  if  laboring  to  recollect  clearly. 

"I  'm  certain  I  'm  correct,"  said  Heathcote,  haughtily. 
"I  made  no  other  payments  than  these  two, — eighty  and 
two  hundred  and  thirty." 

"What  a  memory  I  have,  to  be  sure!  "  said  O'Shea,  laugh- 
ingly. "I  remember  now,  it  was  a  rouleau  of  fifty  that  I 
paid  away  to  Layton  was  running  in  my  head." 

Heathcote's  lip  curled  superciliously,  but  it  was  only  for 
a  second,  and  his  features  were  calm  as  before.  "Two 
thirty  and  eighty  make  three  hundred  and  ten,  and  three 
fifty-" 

"Two  fifty  for  the  trap!  "  broke  in  O'Shea. 

"Ah!  to  be  sure,  two  fifty,  make  altogether  five  hundred 
and  sixty  Naps,  leaving,  let  me  see  —  ninety-four  —  sixty- 
one  —  one  hundred  and  twelve  —  " 

"A  severe  night  that  was.  You  never  won  a  game!" 
chimed  in  O'Shea. 

" — One  hundred  and  twelve  and  seventy,  making  three 
hundred  and  thirty-seven  in  all.     Am  I  right?" 

"Correct  as  Cocker,  only  you  have  forgotten  your  walk 
against  time,  from  the  fish-pond  to  the  ranger's  lodge. 
What  was  it,  —  ten  Naps,  or  twenty  ?  " 

"Neither.  It  was  five,  and  I  paid  it!  "  was  the  curt 
answer. 

"Ain't  I  the  stupidest  dog  that  ever  sat  for  a  borough?" 
said  O'Shea,  bursting  out  into  one  of  his  boisterous 
laughs.  "Do  you  know,  I'd  have  been  quite  willing  to 
have  bet  you  a  cool  hundred  about  that  ? " 

"And  you'd  have  lost,"  said  Heathcote,  dryly. 


A  DREARY  FORENOON.  191 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,  and  deserved  it  too,"  said  he, 
merrily. 

"I  have  brought  you  here  one  hundred  and  fifty,"  said 
Heathcote,  laying  down  three  rouleaux  on  the  table,  "and, 
for  the  remainder,  my  note  at  three  months.  I  hope  that 
may  not  prove  inconvenient?" 

''Inconvenient,  my  boy!  never  say  the  word.  Not  to 
mention  that  fortune  may  take  a  turn  one  of  these  days, 
and  all  this  California  find  its  way  back  to  its  own 
diggings." 

"I  don't  mean  to  play  any  more." 

"Not  play  any  more!  Do  you  mean  to  say  that,  because 
you  have  been  once  repulsed,  you  '11  never  charge  again?  Is 
that  your  soldier's  pluck?  " 

"There  is  no  question  here  of  my  soldier's  pluck.  I  only 
said  I  'd  not  play  billiards." 

"May  I  ask  you  one  thing?  How  can  you  possibly 
expect  to  attain  excellence  in  any  pursuit,  great  or  small, 
when  you  are  so  easily  abashed  ?  " 

"May  I  take  the  same  liberty  with  you,  and  ask  how  can 
it  possibly  concern  any  one  but  myself  that  I  have  taken 
this  resolution?" 

"There  you  have  me!  a  hazard  and  no  mistake!  I  may 
be  your  match  at  billiards;  but  when  it  comes  to  repartee, 
you  are  the  better  man,  Heathcote." 

Coarse  as  the  flattery  was,  it  was  not  unpleasing.  In- 
deed, in  its  very  coarseness  there  was  a  sort  of  mock  sin- 
cerity, just  as  the  stroke  of  a  heavy  hand  on  your  shoulder 
is  occasionall}^  taken  for  good  fellowship,  though  j^ou  wince 
under  the  blow.  Now  Heathcote  was  not  only  gratified  by 
his  own  smartness,  but  after  a  moment  or  two  he  felt  half 
sorry  he  had  been  so  "severe  on  the  poor  fellow."  He  had 
over-shotted  his  gun,  and  there  was  really  no  necessity  to 
rake  him  so  heavily;  and  so,  with  a  sort  of  blundering 
bashfulness,  he  said,  — 

"You  're  not  offended;  you  're  not  angry  with  me?  " 

"Offended!  angry!  nothing  of  the  kind.  I  believe  I  am 
a  peppery  sort  of  fellow,  —  at  least,  down  in  the  "West 
there  they  say  as  much  of  me;  but  once  a  man  is  my 
friend,  —  once  that  1  feel  all  straight  and  fair  between  us, 


192  ONE   OF  THEM. 

—  he  may  bowl  me  over  ten  times  a  day,  and  I  '11  never  re- 
sent it." 

There  was  a  pause  after  this,  and  Heathcote  found  his 
position  painfully  awkward.  He  did  not  fancy  exactly  to 
repudiate  the  friendship  thus  assumed,  and  he  certainly  did 
not  like  to  put  his  name  to  the  bond ;  and  so  he  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  out  with  that  half- hopeless  vacuity 
bashful  men  are  prone  to. 

"What's  the  weather  going  to  do?"  said  he,  carelessly. 
"More  rain? '' 

"Of  course,  more  rain!  Amongst  all  the  humbugs  of  the 
day,  do  you  know  of  one  equal  to  the  humbug  of  the  Italian 
climate?     Where  's  the  blue  sky  they  rave  about?  " 

"Not  there,  certainly,"  said  Heathcote,  laughing,  as  he 
looked  up  at  the  leaden-colored  canopy  that  lowered  above 
them. 

"My  father  used  to  say,"  said  O'Shea,  "that  it  was  all  a 
mistake  to  talk  about  the  damp  climate  of  Ireland ;  the  real 
grievance  was,  that  when  it  rained  it  always  rained  dirty 
water ! " 

The  conceit  amused  Heathcote,  and  he  laughed  again. 

"There  it  comes  now,  and  with  a  will  too!  "  And  at  the 
same  instant,  with  a  rushing  sound  like  hail,  the  rain 
poured  down  with  such  intensity  as  to  shut  out  the  hills 
directly  in  front  of  the  windows. 

"You  're  caught  this  time,  Heathcote.  Make  the  best  of 
it,  like  a  man,  and  resign  yourself  to  eat  a  mutton-chop 
here  with  me  at  four  o'clock;  and  if  it  clears  in  the  evening, 
I'll  canter  back  with  you." 

"No,  no,  the  weather  will  take  up;  this  is  only  a  shower. 
They  '11  expect  me  back  to  dinner,  besides.  Confound  it, 
how  it  does  come  down !  " 

"Oh,  faith!"  said  O'Shea,  half  mournfully,  "I  don't 
wonder  that  you  are  less  afraid  of  the  rain  than  a  bad 
dinner." 

"No,  it's  not  that, — nothing  of  the  kind,"  broke  in 
Heathcote,  hurriedly;  "at  another  time  I  should  be  de- 
lighted!    Who  ever  saw  such  rain  as  that!  " 

"Look  at  the  river  too.  See  how  it  is  swollen  al- 
readv." 


A 'dreary  forenoon.  193 

"Ah!  I  never  thought  of  the  mountain  torrents,"  said 
Heathcote,  suddenly. 

"They  '11  be  coming  down  like  regular  cataracts  by  this 
time.  I  defy  any  one  to  cross  at  Borgo  even  now.  Take 
my  advice,  Heathcote,  and  reconcile  yourself  to  old  Pan's 
cookery  for  to-day." 

"What  time  do  you  dine?  " 

"What  time  will  suit  you?     Shall  we  say  four  or  five?" 

"Four,  if  you  '11  permit  me.     Four  will  do  capitally." 

"That 's  all  right.  And  now  I  '11  just  step  down  to  Panini 
myself,  and  give  him  a  hint  about  some  Burgundy  he  has 
got  in  the  cellar." 

Like  most  men  yielding  to  necessity,  Heathcote  felt  dis- 
contented and  irritated,  and  no  sooner  was  he  alone  than 
he  began  to  regret  his  having  accepted  the  invitation.  What 
signified  a  wetting?  He  was  on  horseback,  to  be  sure,  but 
he  was  well  mounted,  and  it  was  only  twelve  miles,  —  an 
hour  or  an  hour  and  a  quarter's  sharp  canter;  and  as  to  the 
torrents,  up  to  the  girths,  perhaps,  or  a  little  beyond,  — 
it  could  scarcely  come  to  swimming.  Thus  he  argued  with 
himself  as  he  walked  to  and  fro,  and  chafed  and  fretted  as 
he  went.  It  was  in  this  irritated  state  O'Shea  found  him 
when  he  came  back. 

"We  're  all  right.  They  've  got  a  brace  of  woodcock 
below  stairs,  and  some  Pistoja  mutton ;  and  as  I  have  for- 
bidden oil  and  all  the  grease-pots,  we  '11  manage  to  get  a 
morsel  to  eat." 

"I  was  just  thinking  how  stupid  I  was  to  —  to  —  to  put 
you  to  all  this  inconvenience,"  said  he,  hastily  changing  a 
rudeness  into  an  apology. 

"Isn't  it  a  real  blessing  for  me  to  catch  you?"  cried 
O'Shea.  "Imagine  me  shut  up  here  by  myself  all  day,  no 
one  to  speak  to,  nothing  to  do,  nothing  to  read  but  that  old 
volume  of  the  '  Wandering  Jew,'  that  I  begin  to  know  by 
heart,  or,  worse  again,  that  speech  of  mine  on  the  Italian 
question,  that  whenever  I  've  nearly  finished  it  the  villains 
are  sure  to  do  something  or  other  that  destroys  all  my  pre- 
dictions and  ruins  my  argument.  What  would  have  become 
of  me  to-day  if  you  had  n't  dropped  in?  " 

Heathcote  apparently  did  not  feel  called  upon  to  answer 
13 


194  ONE   OF  THEM. 

this  inquiry,  but  walked  the  room  moodily,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets. 

O'Shea  gave  a  little  faint  sigh,  — such  a  sigh  as  a  weary 
pedestrian  may  give,  as,  turning  the  angle  of  the  way,  he 
sees  seven  miles  of  straight  road  before  him,  without  bend 
or  curve.  It  was  now  eleven  o'clock,  and  five  dreary  hours 
were  to  be  passed  before  dinner-time. 

Oh,  my  good  reader,  has  it  been  amongst  your  life's  expe- 
riences to  have  submitted  to  an  ordeal  of  this  kind, —  to  be 
caged  up  of  a  wet  day  with  an  unwilling  guest,  whom  you 
are  called  on  to  amuse,  but  know  not  how  to  interest;  to 
feel  that  you  are  bound  to  employ  his  thoughts,  with  the  sad 
consciousness  that  in  every  pause  of  the  conversation  he  is 
cursing  his  hard  fate  at  being  in  your  company ;  to  know 
that  you  must  deploy  all  the  resources  of  your  agreeability 
without  even  a  chance  of  success,  your  very  efforts  to  amuse 
constituting  in  themselves  a  boredom?  It  is  as  great  a 
test  of  temper  as  of  talent.  Poor  O'Shea,  one  cannot  but 
pity  you!  To  be  sure,  you  are  not  without  little  aids  to 
pass  time,  in  the  shape  of  cards,  dice,  and  such-like.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  a  travelling  roulette-table  is  not  some- 
where amongst  your  effects.  But  of  what  use  are  they  all 
now  ?  None  would  think  of  a  lecture  on  anatomy  to  a  man 
who  had  just  suffered  amputation. 

No,  no !  play  must  not  be  thought  of,  —  it  must  be  most 
sparingly  alluded  to  even  in  conversation,  —  and  so  what  re- 
mains? O'Shea  was  not  without  reminiscences,  and  he 
"went  into  them  like  a  man."  He  told  scenes  of  early 
Trinity  College  life ;  gave  sketches  of  his  contemporaries, 
one  or  two  of  them  now  risen  to  eminence ;  he  gave  anec- 
dotes of  Gray's  Inn,  where  he  had  eaten  his  terms ;  of 
Templar  life,  its  jollities  and  its  gravities ;  of  his  theatrical 
expei'iences,  when  he  wrote  the  "Drama"  for  two  weekly 
periodicals  ;  of  his  like  employ  when  he  reported  prize-fights, 
boat-races,  and  pigeon-matches  for  "Bell's  Life."  He  then 
gave  a  sketch  of  his  entrance  into  public  life,  with  a  picture 
of  an  Irish  election,  dashed  off  spiritedly  and  boldly ;  but 
all  he  could  obtain  from  his  phlegmatic  listener  was  a  faint 
smile  at  times,  and  a  low  muttering  sound,  that  resolved 
itself  into,  "What  snobs!" 


A  DREARY  FORENOON.  195 

At  last  he  was  in  the  House,  dealing  with  great  names 
and  great  events,  which  he  ingeniously  blended  up  with 
Bellamy's  and  the  oyster  suppers  below  stairs ;  but  it 
was  no  use, — they,  too,  were  snobs!  It  was  all  snobbery 
everywhere.  Freshmen,  Templars,  Pugilists,  Scullers, 
County  Electors,  and  House  of  Commons  celebrities,  —  all 
snobs ! 

O'Shea  then  tried  the  Turf,  —  disparagingly,  as  a  great 
moralist  ought.  They  were,  as  he  said,  a  "bad  lot;  "  but 
he  knew  them  well,  and  they  "couldn't  hurt  him."  He 
had  a  variety  of  curious  stories  about  racing  knaveries,  and 
could  clear  up  several  mysterious  circumstances,  which  all 
the  penetration  of  the  "Ring"  had  never  succeeded  in  solv- 
ing. Pleathcote,  however,  was  unappeasable ;  and  these, 
too,  —  trainers,  jockeys,  judges,  and  gentlemen,  —  they 
were  all  snobs ! 

It  was  onh'  two  o'clock,  and  there  were  two  more  mortal 
hours  to  get  through  before  dinner.  With  a  bright  inspira- 
tion he  bethought  him  of  bitter  beer.  Oh,  Bass !  ambrosia 
of  the  barrack-room,  thou  nectar  of  the  do-nothings  in  this 
life,  how  gracefully  dost  thou  deepen  dulness  into  drowsiness, 
making  stupidity  but  semi-conscious  !  What  a  bond  of  union 
art  thou  between  those  who  have  talked  themselves  out,  and 
would  without  thy  consoling  froth,  become  mutually  odious ! 
Instead  of  the  torment  of  suggestiveness  which  other  drinks 
inspire,  how  gloriously  lethargic  are  all  thy  influences,  how 
mind-quelling,  and  how  muddling ! 

There  is,  besides,  a  vague  notion  prevalent  with  your  beer- 
drinker,  that  there  is  some  secret  of  health  in  his  indulgence, 
—  that  he  is  undergoing  a  sort  of  tonic  regimen,  something 
to  make  him  more  equal  to  the  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  or  the 
defeat  of  the  Zouaves,  and  he  grows  in  self-esteem  as  he  sips. 
It  is  not  the  boastful  sentiment  begotten  of  champagne,  or 
the  defiant  courage  of  port,  but  a  dogged,  resolute,  resistant 
spirit,  stout  in  its  nature  and  bitter  to  the  last ! 

And  thus  they  sipped,  and  smoked,  and  said  little  to  each 
other,  and  the  hours  stole  over,  and  the  wintry  day  darkened 
apace,  and,  at  last,  out  of  a  drowsy  nap  over  the  fire,  the 
waiter  awoke  them,  to  say  dinner  was  on  the  ta])le. 

"You  were  asleep!  "  said  O'Shea,  to  his  companion. 


196  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Yes,  'twas  your  snoring  set  me  off !  "  replied  Heatlieote, 
stretching  himself,  as  he  walked  to  the  window.  "Raining 
just  as  hard  as  ever !  " 

"  Come  along,"  said  the  other,  gayly.  "  Let  us  see  what 
old  Pan  has  done  for  us." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MR.    O'SHEA    UPON    POLITICS,    AND    THINGS    IN   GENERAL. 

It  was  a  most  appetizing  little  dinner  that  was  now  set 
before  the  O'Shea  and  Charles  Heathcote.  The  trout  from 
Castellano  and  the  mutton  from  Pistoja  were  each  admi- 
rable ;  and  a  brace  of  woodcocks,  shot  in  the  first  snow- 
storm on  the  Carrara  mountains,  were  served  in  a  fashion 
that  showed  the  cook  had  benefited  by  English  teachings. 

''There  are  worse  places  than  this,  after  all !  "  said  O'Shea, 
as  he  sat  at  one  side  of  the  fire,  Heathcote  opposite,  and  a 
small  table  liberally  covered  with  decanters  between  them. 

"Wonderful  Burgundy  this,"  said  Heathcote,  gazing  at 
his  glass  in  the  light.     "What  does  he  call  it?" 

"  He  calls  it  Lafitte.  These  fellows  think  all  red  wines 
come  from  the  Bordeaux  country.  Here  it  is,  —  marked 
seven  francs." 

"  Cheap  at  double  the  price.  My  governor  will  take  every 
bottle  of  it." 

"Not  before  I  leave,  I  hope,"  said  O'Shea,  laughing. 
"  I  trust  he  '11  respect  what  they  call  vested  interests." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  the  other,  indolently,  "you  are 
going?" 

"Yes.  Our  party  are  getting  uneasy,  and  I  am  con- 
stantly receiving  letters  pressing  me  to  return  to  England." 

"  Want  you  in  the  House,  perhaps?"  said  Heathcote,  as 
he  puffed  his  cigar  in  lazy  enjoyment. 

".lust  so.  You  see,  a  parliamentary  session  is  a  sort  of 
campaign  in  which  every  arm  of  warfare  is  needed.  You 
want  your  great  guns  for  the  grand  battles,  your  dashing 
cavalry  charges  for  emergencies,  and  your  light  skirmishers 
to  annoy  the  enemy  and  disconcert  his  advance." 


198  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"And  which  are  you?"  asked  the  other,  in  a  tone  of 
bantering  indifference. 

"  Well,  1  'm  what  you  might  call  a  mounted  rifleman,  —  a 
dash  of  the  dragoon  with  a  spice  of  the  sharpshooter." 

"  Sharp  enough,  I  take  it,"  muttered  Heathcote,  who  be- 
thought him  of  the  billiard-table,  and  the  wonderful  "haz- 
ards "  O'Shea  used  to  accomplish. 

"You  understand,"  resumed  the  Member,  confidentially, 
"I  don't  come  out  on  the  Budget,  or  Reform,  or  things  of 
that  kind ;  but  I  lie  by  till  I  hear  some  one  make  a  blunder 
or  a  mistake,  no  matter  how  insignificant,  and  then  I  'm  down 
on  him,  generally  with  an  anecdote  —  something  he  reminds 
me  of  —  and  for  which  I  'm  sure  to  have  the  laugh  against 
him.  It 's  so  easy,  besides,  to  make  them  laugh ;  the  worst 
jokes  are  always  successful  in  the  House  of  Commons." 

"  Dull  fellows,  I  suppose?  "  chimed  in  Heathcote. 

"No,  indeed;  not  that.  Go  down  with  six  or  eight  of 
them  to  supper,  and  you  '11  say  you  never  met  pleasanter 
company.  'T  is  being  caged  up  there  all  together,  saj'ing  the 
same  things  over  and  over,  that 's  what  destroys  them." 

"  It  must  be  a  bore,  I  take  it?"  sighed  out  Heathcote. 

"I'll  tell  3^ou  what  it  is,"  said  O'Shea,  as,  in  a  voice  of 
deepest  confidence,  he  leaned  over  the  table  and  spoke,  — 
"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is.  Did  you  ever  play  the  game 
called  Brag,  with  very  little  money  in  your  pocket?  " 

Heathcote  nodded  what  might  mean  assent  or  the  opposite. 

"That's  what  Parliament  is,"  resumed  O'Shea.  "You 
sit  there,  night  after  night,  year  after  year,  wondering 
within  yourself,  '  Would  it  be  safe  for  me  to  play  this  hand? 
Shall  I  venture  now?'  You  know  well  that  if  you  do  back 
your  luck  and  lose,  that  it 's  all  up  with  you  forever,  so  that 
it 's  really  a  mighty  serious  thing  to  risk  it.  At  last, 
maybe,  you  take  courage.  You  think  you  've  got  the  cards ; 
it 's  half-past  two  o'clock ;  the  House  is  thin,  and  every  one 
is  tired  and  sleepy.  Up  you  get  on  your  legs  to  speak. 
You  're  not  well  down  again,  till  a  fellow  from  the  back 
benches,  you  thought  sound  asleep,  gets  up  and  tears  all  you 
said  to  tatters,  — destroys  your  facts,  scatters  your  infer- 
ences,  and  maybe  laughs  at  your  figures  of  speech." 

"  Not  so  pleasant,  that,"  said  Heathcote,  languidly. 


O'SHEA  UPON  POLITICS,  AND  THINGS  IN  GENERAL.     109 

"  Pleasant !  it 's  the  devil !  "  said  O'Shea,  violently  ;  "  for 
you  hear  the  pen  scratching  away  up  in  the  reporters'  gallery, 
and  you  know  it  will  be  all  over  Europe  next  morning." 

"Then  why  submit  to  all  this?"  asked  Heathcote,  more 
eagerly. 

"Just  as  I  said  awhile  ago;  because  you  might  chance 
upon  a  good  card,  and  '  brag  '  on  it  for  something  worth 
while.     It's  all  luck." 

"Your  picture  of  political  life  is  not  fascinating,"  said 
Heathcote,  coldly. 

"  After  all,  do  you  know,  I  like  it,"  resumed  O'Shea. 
"  As  long  as  you  've  a  seat  in  the  House,  there  's  no  saying 
when  you  might  n't  be  wanted ;  and  then,  when  the  session  's 
over,  and  you  go  down  to  the  country,  you  are  the  terror  of 
all  the  fellows  that  never  sat  in  Parliament.  If  they  say 
a  word  about  public  matters,  you  put  them  down  at  once 
with  a  cool  '  I  assure  you,  sir,  that 's  not  the  view  we  take 
of  it  in  the  House.'" 

"  I  'd  say,  '  What 's  that  to  me  ? '  " 

"  No,  you  would  n't,  —  not  a  bit  of  it ;  or,  if  you  did,  no- 
body would  mind  you,  and  for  this  reason, — it's  the  real 
place,  after  all.  Why  do  you  pay  vStorr  and  Mortimer  more 
than  another  jeweller?  Just  because  you're  sure  of  the 
article.     There  now,  that 's  how  it  is  !  " 

"There's  some  one  knocking  at  the  door,  I  think,"  said 
Heathcote ;  but  at  the  same  instant  Joe's  head  appeared 
inside,  with  a  request  to  be  admitted.  "  'T  is  the  telegraph," 
said  he,  presenting  a  packet. 

"  I  have  asked  for  a  small  thing  in  Jamaica,  some  ten  or 
twelve  hundred  a  year,"  whispered  O'Shea  to  his  friend. 
"  I  suppose  this  is  the  reply."  And  at  the  same  time  he 
threw  the  portentous  envelope  carelessly  on  the  table. 

Either  Heathcote  felt  no  interest  in  the  subject,  or  deemed 
it  proper  to  seem  as  indifferent  as  his  host,  for  he  never 
took  any  further  notice  of  the  matter,  but  smoked  away  as 
before. 

"  You  need  n't  wait,"  said  O'Shea  to  Joe,  who  still 
lingered  at  the  door.  ' '  That  fellow  is  bursting  with  curiosity 
now,"  said  he,  as  the  man  retired;  "he'd  give  a  yeai-'s 
wages  to  know  what  was  inside  that  envelope." 


200  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  Indeed!  "  sighed  out  Heathcote,  in  a  tone  that  showed 
how  little  he  sympathized  with  such  eagerness. 

If  O'Shea  was  piqued  at  this  cool  show  of  indifference, 
he  resolved  to  surpass  it  by  appearing  to  forget  the  theme 
altogether;  and,  pushing  the  bottle  across  the  table,  he  said, 
"  Did  I  ever  tell  you  how  it  was  I  first  took  to  politics?  " 

"No,  I  think  not,"  said  Heathcote,  listlessly. 

"Well,  it  was  a  chance,  and  a  mere  chance;  this  is  the 
way  it  happened.  Though  I  was  bred  to  the  Bar,  I  never 
did  much  at  the  law ;  some  say  that  an  agreeable  man,  with 
a  lively  turn  in  conversation,  plenty  of  anecdote,  and  a  rich 
fancy,  is  never  a  favorite  with  the  attorneys ;  the  rascals 
always  think  that  such  a  man  will  never  make  a  lawyer,  and 
though  they  '11  listen  to  his  good  stories  by  the  hour  in  the 
Hall,  devil  a  brief  they  '11  give  him,  nor  so  much  as  a  '  dec- 
laration.' Well,  for  about  five  years  I  walked  about  in  wig 
and  gown,  joking  and  quizzing  and  humbugging  all  the 
fellows  that  were  getting  business,  and  taking  a  circuit  now 
and  again,  but  all  to  no  good ;  and  at  last  I  thought  I  'd 
give  it  up,  and  so  my  friends  advised  me,  saying,  '  Get 
something  under  the  Government,  Gorman ;  a  snug  place 
with  a  few  hundreds  a  year,  and  be  sure  take  anything 
that 's  offered  you  to  begin  with.' 

' '  Now  there  was  a  room  in  Dublin  Castle  —  it 's  the 
second  down  the  corridor  off  the  private  stairs  —  that  used 
to  be  called  the  Poker-room.  It  may  be  so  still,  for  anything 
I  know,  and  for  this  reason :  it  was  there  all  the  people  ex- 
pecting places  or  appointments  were  accustomed  to  wait. 
It  was  a  fine,  airy,  comfortable  room,  with  a  good  carpet, 
easy-chairs,  and  always  an  excellent  fire ;  and  here  used  to 
meet  every  day  of  their  lives  the  same  twenty  or  five-and- 
twenty  people,  one  occasionally  dropping  off,  and  another 
coming  in,  but  so  imperceptibly  and  gradually  that  the 
gathering  at  last  grew  to  be  a  sort  of  club,  where  they  sat 
from  about  eleven  till  dark  every  day,  chatting  pleasantly 
over  public  and  private  events.  It  was  thus  found  necessary 
to  give  it  a  kind  of  organization,  and  so  we  named  for  Presi- 
dent the  oldest,  —  that  is,  the  longest  expectant  of  place,  — 
who,  by  virtue  of  his  station,  occupied  the  seat  next  the  fire, 
and  alone,  of  all  the  members,  possessed  the  privilege  of 


O'SHEA  UPON  POLITICS,  AND  THINGS  IN  GENERAL.     201 

poking  it.  The  poker  was  his  badge  of  office ;  and  the  last 
act  of  his  official  life,  whenever  promotion  separated  him 
from  us,  was  to  hand  the  poker  to  his  successor,  with  a 
solemn  dignity  of  manner  and  a  few  parting  words.  I  verily 
believe  that  most  of  us  got  to  be  so  fond  of  the  club  that  it 
was  the  very  reverse  of  a  pleasure  when  we  had  to  leave  it 
to  become,  maybe,  a  Police  Inspector  at  Skibbereeu,  Post- 
master at  Tory  Island,  or  a  Ganger  at  Innismagee ;  and  so 
we  jogged  on,  from  one  Viceroy  to  another,  very  happy  and 
contented.  Well,  it  was  the  time  of  a  great  Marquis,  —  I 
won't  say  who,  but  he  was  the  fast  friend  of  O'Connell,  — 
and  we  all  of  us  thought  that  there  would  be  plenty  of  fine 
things  given  away,  and  the  poker-roora  was  crammed,  and 
I  was  the  President,  having  ascended  the  throne  two  years 
and  a  half  before.  It  was  somewhere  early  in  March  ;  a  cold 
raw  day  it  was.  I  had  scarcely  entered  the  club,  than  a 
messenger  bawled  out,  'Gorman  O'Shea,  —  Mr.  Gorman 
O'Shea.'  ^  Here  he  is,'  said  I.  'Wanted  in  the  Chief  Sec- 
retary's office,'  said  he,  '  immediately.'  I  gave  a  knowing 
wink  to  the  company  around  the  fire,  and  left  the  room. 
Three  mortal  hours  did  I  stand  in  the  ante-room  below,  see- 
ing crowds  pass  in  and  out  before  I  was  called  in  ;  and  then, 
as  I  entered,  saw  a  little  wizened,  sharp-faced  man  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  fire  paring  his  nails.  He  never  so  much 
as  looked  at  me,  but  said  in  a  careless,  muttering  sort  of 
way,  — 

"'You're  the  gentleman  who  wishes  to  go  as  resident 
magistrate  to  Oackatoro,  ain't  you?' 

"  '  Well,  indeed,  sir,  I'm  not  quite  sure,'  I  began. 

"  '  Oh  yes,  you  are,'  broke  he  in.  '  I  know  all  about  you. 
Your  name  has  been  favorably  mentioned  to  the  office.  You 
are  Mr.  O'Gorman —  ' 

"  '  Mr.  Gorman  O'Shea,'  said  I,  proudly. 

"  '  The  same  thing,  Gorman  O'Shea.  I  remember  it  now. 
Your  appointment  will  be  made  out :  five  hundred  a  year, 
and  a  retiring  pension  after  six  years ;  house,  and  an  allow- 
ance for  monkeys.' 

"  '  A  what? '  asked  T. 

"  '  Tiie  place  is  much  infested  with  a  large  species  of 
ourang-outang,  and  the  governor  gives   so  much  per  head 


202  ONE  OF  THEM. 

for  destroying  them.  Mr.  Simpson,  in  the  office,  will  give 
you  full  information.  You  are  to  be  at  your  post  by  the  1st 
of  August.' 

"  '  Might  I  make  bold  to  ask  where  Whackatory  is?  ' 

"  '  Oackatoro,  sir,'  said  he,  proudly,  '  is  the  capital  of 
Fighi.     I  trust  I  need  not  say  where  that  is.' 

"  '  By  no  means,'  said  I,  modestly ;  and,  muttering  my 
thanks  for  the  advancement,  I  backed  out,  almost  deranged 
to  think  that  I  did  n't  know  where  I  was  going. 

"  '  Where  is  it?  What  is  it?  How  much  is  it,  O'Shea? ' 
cried  thirty  ardent  voices,  as  I  entered  the  club. 

"'It's  five  hundred  a  year,'  said  I,  'without  counting 
the  monkeys.  It 's  a  magistrate's  place  ;  but  may  a  goose- 
berry skin  make  a  nightcap  for  me  if  I  know  where  the  devil 
it  is  !  ' 

"  '  But  5'ou  have  accepted  ! '  cried  they  out,  all  together. 

"  '  I  have,'  said  I.  'I'm  to  be  at  Fighi,  wherever  that  is, 
by  the  1st  of  August.  And  now,'  said  I,  turning  to  the  fire, 
and  taking  up  the  poker,  '  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do  but 
resign  this  sacred  symbol  of  my  office  into  the  hands  of  my 
successor.' 

"  '  AVhere  's  O'Dowd?  '  shouted  out  the  crowd.  And  they 
awoke  out  of  a  pleasant  sleep  a  little  old  fellow  that  never 
missed  his  day  for  two  years  at  the  club. 

"  '  Gentlemen,'  said  I,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  feeling, 
'  the  hour  is  come  when  my  destiny  is  to  separate  me  from 
you  forever ;  an  hour  that  is  equally  full  of  the  past  and  the 
future,  and  has  even  no  small  share  of  present  emotions.  If 
ever  there  were  a  human  institution  devised  to  cement  to- 
gether the  hearts  and  affections  of  men.  to  bind  them  into 
one  indissoluble  mass,  and  blend  their  instincts  into  identity, 
it  is  the  club  we  have  here.  Here  we  stand,  like  the  de- 
parted spirits  at  the  Styx,  waiting  for  the  bark  of  Charon  to 
ferry  us  over.  To  what,  however?  Is  it  to  some  blessed 
elysium  of  a  Poor  Law  Commissioner's  place,  or  is  it  to 
some  unknown  fate  in  a  distant  land,  with  five  hundred  a 
year  and  an  allowance  for  monkeys?  That's  the  question, 
there  's  the  rub  !  as  Hamlet  says.'  After  dilating  at  large  on 
this,  I  turned  to  O'Dowd.  '  To  your  hands,'  said  I,  '  I  com- 
mit this  venerable  relic :  keep  it,  guard  it,  honor  it,  and  pre- 


O'SHEA  UPON  POLITICS,  AND  THINGS  IN  GENERAL.     203 

serve  it.  Remember,'  said  I,  '  that  when  you  stir  those  coals 
it  is  the  symbol  of  keeping  alive  in  the  heart  the  sparks  of 
an  undying  hope ;  that  though  they  may  wet  the  slack  and 
water  the  cinders  of  our  nature,  the  fire  within  us  will  still 
survive,  red,  glowing,  and  generous.  Is  n't  that  as  fine,  as 
great,  glorious,  and  free,  I  ask  you?' 

"  '  Who  is  that  fellow  that 's  talking  there,  with  a  voice  like 
Lablache?'  asked  a  big  man  at  the  door;  and  then,  as  the 
answer  was  whispered  in  his  ear,  he  said,  '  Send  him  out 
here  to  me.' 

"  Out  I  went,  and  found  myself  face  to  face  with  O'Connell. 

"  '  I  want  a  man  to  stand  for  Drogheda  to-morrow ;  the 
gentleman  I  expected  cannot  arrive  there  possibly  before 
three.  Will  you  address  the  electors,  and  speak  till  he 
comes?  If  he  isn't  there  by  half-past  three,  you  shall  be 
returned ! ' 

"  '  Done !  '  said  I.  And  by  five  o'clock  on  the  following 
evening  Gorman  O'Shea  was  at  the  top  of  the  poll  and 
declared  Member  for  Drogheda !  That  was,  I  may  say,  the 
first  lift  I  ever  got  from  Fortune.  May  I  never !  "  ex- 
claimed O'Shea,  half  angrily,  —  "  may  I  never,  if  he's  not 
asleep  —  and  snoring !  These  Saxons  beat  the  world  for 
stupidity." 

The  Member  now  suddenly  bethought  him  that  it  would  be 
a  favorable  moment  to  read  his  telegram,  and  so  he  tore 
open  the  envelope,  and  held  it  to  the  light.  It  was  headed 
as  usual,  and  addressed  in  full,  showing  that  no  parsimony 
defrauded  him  of  his  full  title.  The  body  of  the  despatch 
was,  however,  brief  enough,  and  contained  only  one  word, 
"Bosh!"  It  was  clear,  bold,  and  unmistakably  "Bosh!" 
Could  insolence  go  further  than  that?  To  send  such  a  mes- 
sage a  thousand  miles,  at  the  cost  of  one  pound  fourteen  and 
sixpence ! 

"  What  the  deuce?  you've  nearly  upset  the  table !  "  cried 
Heathcote,  waking  suddenly  up,  as  O'Shea  with  a  passion- 
ate gesture  had  thrown  one  of  the  decanters  into  the  other's 
lap. 

"  I  was  asleep,  like  yourself,  I  suppose,"  said  the  IMember, 
roughly.  "  I  must  say,  we  are  neither  of  us  the  very  live- 
liest company." 


204  ONE  OF   THEM. 

"  It  was  that  yarn  of  yours  about  attacking  monkeys  with 
a  poker,  or  some  stuff  of  that  kind,  set  me  oflf,"  yawned 
Heathcote,  drearily.  "  I  had  not  felt  the  least  sleepy  till 
then." 

"Here,  let  us  fill  our  glasses,  and  drink  to  the  jolly 
time  that  is  coming  for  us,"  said  O'Shea,  with  all  his  native 
recklessness. 

"With  all  my  heart;  but  I  wish  1  could  guess  from  what 
quarter  it's  coming,"  said  Heathcote,  despondingly. 

If  neither  felt  much  disposed  to  converse,  they  each  drank 
deeply  ;  and  although  scarcely  more  than  a  word  or  two  would 
pass  between  them,  they  sat  thus,  hour  after  hour,  till  it  was 
long  past  midnight. 

It  was  after  a  long  silence  between  them  that  Heathcote 
said  :  "I  never  tried  so  hard  in  my  life  to  get  drunk,  without 
success.  I  find  it  won't  do,  though;  I'm  just  as  clear- 
headed and  as  low-spirited  as  when  I  started." 

"  Bosh  !  "  muttered  O'Shea,  half  dreamily. 

"It's  no  such  thing!"  retorted  Heathcote.  "At  any 
ordinary  time  one  bottle  of  that  strong  Burgundy  would  have 
gone  to  my  head  ;  and  see,  now  I  don't  feel  it." 

"  Maybe  you 're  fretting  about  something.  It's  perhaps 
a  weight  on  your  heart  —  " 

"That's  it!"  sighed  out  the  other,  as  though  the  very 
avowal  were  an  inexpressible  relief  to  him. 

"  Is  it  for  a  woman?  "  asked  O'Shea. 

The  other  nodded,  and  then  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand. 

"Upon  my  conscience,  I  sometimes  think  they're  worse 
than  the  Jews,"  said  the  Member,  violently  ;  "and  there  's  no 
being  '  up  to  them.'  " 

"  It 's  our  own  fault,  then,"  cried  Heathcote  ;  "  because  we 
never  play  fairly  with  them." 

"Bosh!  "  muttered  O'Shea,  again. 

"I  defy  you  to  deny  it,"  cried  he,  angrily. 

"  I  'd  like  a  five-pound  note  to  argue  it  either  way,"  said 
O'Shea. 

As  if  offended  by  the  levity  of  the  speech,  Heathcote 
turned  away  and  said  nothing. 

"  When  you  get  down  to  Rome,  and  have  some  fun  over 
those  ox-fences,  you  '11  forget  all  about  her,  whoever  she  is," 
said  O'Shea. 


O'SHEA  UPON  POLITICS,  AND  THINGS  IN  GENERAL.     205 

"  I'm  for  Euglaud  to-morrow,  and  for  India  next  week,  if 
they  '11  have  me." 

'•  Well,  if  that 's  not  madness  —  " 

"  No,  sir,  it  is  not,"  broke  in  Heathcote,  angrily  ;  "  nor  will 
I  permit  you  or  any  other  man  to  call  it  so." 

"  What  I  meant  was,  that  when  a  fellow  had  your  prospects 
before  him,  India  ought  n't  to  tempt  him,  even  with  the  offer 
of  the  Governor-Generalship." 

"  Forgive  me  my  bad  temper,  like  a  good  fellow,"  cried 
Heathcote,  grasping  the  other's  hand  ;  "  but,  in  honest  truth, 
I  have  no  prospects,  no  future,  and  there  is  not  a  more  hope- 
less wretch  to  be  found  than  the  man  before  you." 

O'Shea  was  very  near  saying  "  Bosh !  "  once  more,  but  he 
coughed  it  under. 

Like  all  bashful  men  who  have  momentarily  given  way  to 
Impatience,  Charles  Heathcote  was  over  eager  to  obtain  his 
companion's  good  will,  and  so  he  dashed  at  once  into  a  full 
confession  of  all  the  difficulties  that  beset,  and  all  the  cares 
that  surrounded  him.  O'Shea  had  never  known  accurately, 
till  now,  the  amount  of  May  Leslie's  fortune,  nor  how  com- 
pletely she  was  the  mistress  of  her  own  fate.  Neither  had 
he  ever  heard  of  that  strange  provision  in  the  will  which 
imposed  a  forfeit  upon  her  if  unwilling  to  accept  Charles 
Heathcote  as  her  husband,  —  a  condition  which  he  shrewdly 
judged  to  be  the  very  surest  of  all  ways  to  prevent  their 
marriage. 

"  And  so  you  released  her?  "  cried  he,  as  Heathcote  finished 
his  narrative. 

"Released  her!  No.  I  never  considered  that  she  was 
bound.     How  could  I?" 

"Upon  my  conscience,"  muttered  the  O'Shea,  "it  is  a 
hard  case  —  a  mighty  hard  case  —  to  see  one's  way  in  ;  for 
if,  as  you  say,  it 's  not  a  worthy  part  for  a  man  to  compel 
a  girl  to  be  his  wife  just  because  her  father  put  it  in  his 
will,  it 's  very  cruel  to  lose  her  only  because  she  has  a  fine 
property." 

"It  is  for  no  such  reason,"  broke  in  Heathcote,  half 
angrily.  "I  was  unwilling — I  am  unwilling — that  May 
Leslie  should  be  bound  by  a  contract  she  never  shared 
in." 


206  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  That 's  all  balderdash  !  "  cried  O'Shea,  with  energy. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?  "  retorted  the  other,  passionately. 

"  What  I  mean  is  this,"  resumed  he  :  "  that  it 's  all  balder- 
dash to  talk  of  the  hardship  of  doing  things  that  we  never 
planned  out  for  ourselves.  Sure,  ain't  we  doing  them  every 
moment  of  our  lives?  Ain't  I  doing  something  because  you 
contrived  it?  and  ain't  you  doing  something  else  because  I 
left  it  in  your  way  ?  " 

"  It  comes  to  this,  then,  that  you  'd  marry  a  girl  who  did  n't 
care  for  you,  if  the  circumstances  were  such  as  to  oblige  her 
to  accept  you  ?  " 

"  Not  absolutely,  —  not  unreservedly,"  replied  O'Shea. 

"  Well,  what  is  the  reservation?     Let  us  hear  it." 

"  Her  fortune  ought  to  be  suitable." 

"  Oh,  this  is  monstrous  !  " 

"  Hear  me  out  before  you  condemn  me.  In  marriage,  as 
in  everything  else,  you  must  take  it  out  in  malt  or  in  meal : 
don't  fancy  that  you  're  going  to  get  love  and  money  too. 
It's  only  in  novels  such  luck  exists." 

"I'm  very  glad  I  do  not  share  your  sentiments,"  said 
Charles,  sternly. 

"  They  're  practibal,  anyway.  But  now  to  another  point. 
Here  we  are,  sitting  by  the  fire  in  all  frankness  and  candor. 
Answer  me  fairly  two  questions :  Have  you  given  up  the 
race  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  then,  have  you  any  objection  if  I  enter  for  the 
stakes  myself?  " 

' '  You !  Do  you  mean  that  you  would  propose  for  May 
Leslie  ?  " 

"I  do;  and,  what's  more,  I  don't  despair  of  success, 
either." 

An  angry  flush  rose  to  Heathcote's  face,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment it  seemed  as  if  his  passion  was  about  to  break  forth ; 
but  he  mastered  it,  and,  rising  slowly,  said :  "  If  I  thought 
such  a  thing  possible,  it  would  very  soon  cure  me  of  one 
sorrow."  After  a  pause,  he  added  :  "As  for  me,  I  have  no 
permission  to  give  or  to  withhold.  Go,  by  all  means,  and 
make  your  offer.  I  only  ask  one  thing :  it  is,  that  you  will 
honestly  tell  me  afterwai'ds  how  it  has  been  received." 


O'SHEA  UPON  POLITICS,  AND  THINGS  IN  GENERAL.     207 

"  That  I  pledge  my  word  to.  Where  do  you  stop  in 
Paris  ? " 

"  At  the  Windsor." 

"  Well,  you  shall  have  a  despatch  from  me,  or  see  myself 
there,  by  Saturday  evening;  one  or  the  other  I  swear  to." 

"Agreed.  I'll  not  wish  you  success,  for  that  would  be 
hypocritical,  but  I  '11  wish  you  well  over  it !  "  And  with 
this  speech,  uttered  in  a  tone  of  jeering  sarcasm,  Heathcote 
said  good-bye,  and  departed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    PUBLIC    SERVANT    ABROAD. 

We  scarcely  thought  that  the  distinguished  public  servant, 
Mr.  Ogden,  was  likely  to  occupy  once  more  any  portion  of 
our  readers'  attention  ;  and  yet  it  so  fell  out  that  this  useful 
personage,  being  on  the  Continent  getting  up  his  Austria  and 
Northern  Italy  for  the  coming  session,  received  a  few  lines 
from  the  Earl  of  Sommerville,  half  mandatory,  half  entreat- 
ing, asking  him  to  find  out  the  young  Marquis  of  Agincourt, 
and  take  him  back  with  him  to  England. 

Now  the  Earl  was  a  great  man,  for  he  was  father-in-law  of 
a  Cabinet  Minister,  and  related  to  half  the  leaders  of  the 
party,  so  that  Mr.  Ogden,  however  little  the  mission  suited 
his  other  plans,  was  fain  at  once  to  accept  it,  and  set  out  in 
search  of  his  charge. 

We  need  not  follow  him  in  his  pursuit  through  Lombardy 
and  the  Legations,  down  to  Tuscany  and  Lucca,  which  latter 
city  he  reached  at  the  close  of  a  cold  and  dreary  day  of 
winter,  cheered  to  him,  however,  by  the  certainty  that  he  had 
at  length  come  up  with  the  object  of  his  chase. 

It  was  a  habit  with  Quackinboss,  whenever  he  sent  out 
Layton's  servant  on  an  errand,  to  leave  the  house  door  ajar, 
that  the  sick  man  might  not  be  disturbed  by  the  loud  sum- 
mons of  the  bell ;  and  so  on  the  evening  in  question  was  it 
found  by  Mr.  Ogden,  who,  after  some  gentle  admonitions  by 
his  knuckles  and  some  preparatory  coughs,  at  last  groped 
his  way  into  the  interior,  and  eventually  entered  the  spacious 
sitting-i-oom.  Quackinboss  had  dined,  and  was  seated  at  his 
wine  beside  an  ample  fireplace,  with  a  blazing  wood-fire.  An 
old-fashioned  screen  sheltered  him  from  the  draught  of  tlie 
ill-fitting  windows,  while  a  comfortable  buffalo  rug  was 
stretched  under  his  feet.     The  Colonel  was  in  his  second 


THE   PUBLIC   SERVANT   ABROAD. 


209 


cigar,  and  in  the  drowsy  mood  of  its  easy  enjoyment,  when 
the  harsh  accents  of  Mr.  Ogden's  voice  startled  him,  by  ask- 
ing, "  Can  you  inform  me  if  Lord  Agincourt  lives  here?  " 

"  You  're  a  Britisher  now,  I  expect?  "  said  the  Colonel,  as 
he  slowly  puffed  out  a  long  volume  of  smoke,  but  never 
moved  from  his  seat. 

"My  question  having  the  precedence,  sir,  it  will  be,  per- 
haps, more  regular  to  answer  it  first,"  said  Ogden,  with  a 
slow  pertinacity. 


"Well,  I  ain't  quite  sure  o'  that,  stranger,"  drawled  out 
the  other.  "Mine  was  a  sort  of  an  amendment,  and  so 
might  be  put  before  the  original  motion." 

The  remark  chimed  in  well  with  the  humor  of  one  never 
indisposed  to  word-fencing,  and  so  he  deferred  to  the  sug- 
gestion, told  his  name  and  his  object  in  coming.  "And 
now,  sir,"  added  he,  "I  hope  not  to  be  deemed  indiscreet  in 
asking  an  equal  candor  from  you." 

"You  ain't  a  doctor?"  asked  Quackinboss. 

"No,  sir;  not  a  physician,  at  least." 
14 


210  ONE   OF   THEM. 

"That 's  a  pity,"  said  Quackinboss,  slowly,  as  he  brushed 
the  ashes  off  his  cigar.  "Help  yourself,  stranger;  that's 
claret,  t'other 's  the  country  wine,  and  this  is  cognac,  — all 
three  bad  o'  their  kind;  but,  as  they  say  here  to  every- 
thing, '  Come  si  fa,  eh?     Come  si  fa! '  " 

"It  is  not  from  any  disparagement  of  your  hospitality, 
sir,"  said  Ogden,  somewhat  pompously,  "that  I  am  forced 
to  recall  you  to  my  first  question." 

"Come  si  fa!"  repeated  Quackinboss,  still  ruminating 
over  the  philosophy  of  that  expression,  one  of  the  very  few 
he  had  ever  succeeded  in  commitiug  to  memory. 

"Am  I  to  conclude,  sir,  that  you  decline  giving  me  the 
information  I  ask  V  " 

"I  ain't  in  a  witness-box,  stranger.  I  'm  a-sittin'  at  my 
own  fireside.  I  'm  a-smokin'  my  Virginian,  where  I  've  a 
right  to,  and  if  you  choose  to  come  in  neighborly-like,  and 
take  a  liquor  with  me,  we  '11  talk  it  over,  whatever  it  is;  but 
if  you  think  to  come  Holy  Office  and  the  Inquisition  over 
Shaver  Quackinboss,  you  've  caught  the  wrong  squirrel  by 
the  tail,  Britisher,  you  have !  " 

"I  must  say,  sir,  you  have  put  a  most  forced  and  unfair 
construction  upon  a  very  simple  circumstance.  I  asked  you 
if  the  Marquis  of  Agincourt  resided  here  ?  " 

"And  so  you  ain't  a  doctor?  "  said  Quackinboss, 
pensively. 

"No,  sir;  I  have  already  told  you  as  much." 

"Bred  to  the  law,  belike?  " 

"I  have  studied,  sir,  but  not  practised  as  a  lawyer." 

"Well,  now,  I  expected  you  was!"  said  Quackinboss, 
with  an  air  of  self-satisfaction.  "You  chaps  betray  your- 
selves sooner  than  any  other  class  in  all  creation ;  as  Flay 
Harris  says:  '  A  lawyer  is  a  fellow  won't  drink  out  of  the 
bung-hole,  but  must  always  be  for  tapping  the  cask  for  him- 
self.'    You  ain't  long  in  these  parts?  " 

"No,  sir;  a  very  short  time,  indeed,"  said  Ogden, 
drearily. 

"You  needn't  sigh  about  it,  stranger,  though  it  is  main 
dull  in  these  diggin's!  Here  's  a  people  that  don't  under- 
stand human  natur'.  What  I  mean,  sir,  is,  human  natur' 
means  goin'  ahead ;  doin'  a  somewhat  your  father  and  your 


THE   PUBLIC   SERVANT  ABROAD.  211 

grandfather  never  so  much  as  dreamt  of.  But  what  are 
these  critturs  about?  Jest  showin'  the  great  things  that 
was  done  center ies  before  they  was  born, —  what  pictures 
and  statues  and  monuments  their  own  ancestors  could 
make,  and  of  which  they  are  jest  showmen,  nothing 
more ! " 

"The  Arts  are  Italy's  noblest  inheritance,"  said  Ogden, 
sententiously. 

"That  ain't  my  platform,  stranger.  Civilization  never 
got  anything  from  painters  or  sculptors.  They  never  taught 
mankind  to  be  truthful  or  patient  or  self-deuyin'  or  chari- 
table. You  may  look  at  a  bronze  Hercules  till  you  're  black 
in  the  face,  and  it  will  never  make  you  give  a  cent  to  a 
lame  cripple.  I  '11  go  further  again,  stranger,  and  I  '11  say 
that  there  ain't  anything  has  thrown  so  many  stumblin'- 
blocks  before  pro-gress  as  what  you  call  the  Arts,  for  there 
ain't  the  equal  o'  them  to  make  people  idlers.  What 's  all 
that  loafing  about  galleries,  I  ask  ye,  but  the  worst  of  all 
idling?  If  you  want  them  sort  of  emotions,  go  to  the  real 
article,  sir.  Look  at  an  hospital,  that 's  more  life-like  than 
Gerard  Dow  and  his  dropsical  woman,  —  ay,  and  may  touch 
your  heart,  belike,  before  you  get  away." 

"Though  your  conversation  interests  me  much,  sir,  you 
will  pardon  my  observing  that  I  feel  myself  an  intruder." 

"No,  you  ain't;  I'm  jest  in  a  talkin'  humor,  and  I'd 
rather  have  yo^i,  than  that  Italian  crittur,  as  don't  under- 
stand me." 

"Even  the  flattery  of  your  observation,  sir,  cannot  make 
me  forget  that  another  object  claims  my  attention." 

"For  I  've  remarked,"  resumed  Quackinboss,  as  if  in  con- 
tinuation of  his  speech,  "that  a  foreigner  that  don't  know 
English  wearies  after  a  while  in  listenin',  even  though 
you  're  tellin'  him  very  interesting  things." 

"I  perceive,  sir,"  said  Ogden,  rising,  "that  I  have  cer- 
tainly been  mistaken  in  the  address.  I  was  told  that  at 
the  Palazzo  Barsotti  —  " 

"  Well,  you  're  jest  there;  that 's  what  they  call  this  ram- 
shackle old  crazy  consarn.  Their  palaces,  bein'  main  like 
their  nobility,  would  be  all  the  better  for  a  little  washin' 
and  smartenin'  up." 


212  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"You  can  perhaps,  however,  inform  me  where  Lord  Agin- 
court  does  live?  " 

"  Well,  he  lives,  as  I  may  sa}^  a  little  promiscuous.  If 
he  aiu't  here.,  it 's  because  he 's  there  !     You  understand  ? " 

"I  cannot  say  very  confidently  that  I  do  understand,"  said 
Ogdeu,  slowly. 

"It  was  well  as  you  was  n't  a  practisin'  lawyer,  Britisher, 
for  you  ain't  smart!  that's  a  fact.  No,  sir;  you  ain't 
smart !  " 

"Your  countrymen's  estimate  of  that  quality  has  a  high 
standard,  sir,"  said  Ogden,  haughtily. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  my  countrymen?"  asked  the 
other,  quickly. 

"I  ventured  to  presume  that  you  were  an  American,"  said 
Ogden,  with  a  supercilious  smile. 

"Well,  stranger,  you  were  main  right;  though  darn  me 
con-siderable  if  I  know  how  you  discovered  it.  Don't  you 
be  a-goin',  now  that  we  're  gettin'  friendly  together.  Set 
down  a  bit.     Maybe  you  'd  taste  a  morsel  of  something." 

"Excuse  me,  I  have  just  dined." 

"Well,  mix  a  summut  in  your  glass.  It 's  a  rare  pleasure 
to  me,  stranger,  to  have  a  chat  with  a  man  as  talks  like  a 
Christian.  I'm  tired  of  'Come  si  fa,' — that's  a  fact, 
sir." 

"I  regret  that  I  cannot  profit  by  your  polite  invitation," 
said  Ogden,  bowing  stiflfly.  "I  had  been  directed  to  this 
house  as  the  residence  of  Lord  Agincourt  and  his  tutor;  and 
as  neither  of  them  live  here  —  " 

"Who  told  you  that?  There  's  one  of  them  a-bed  in  that 
room  there;  he's  caught  swamp-fever,  and  it's  gone  up  to 
the  head.     He  's  the  tutor,  — poor  fellow." 

"And  the  Marquis?" 

"The  Marquis!  he's  a  small  parcel  to  have  such  a  big 
direction  on  him,  ain't  he?  He  's  at  a  villa,  a  few  miles  off; 
but  he  '11  be  over  here  to-morrow  morning." 

"You  are  quite  sure  of  that?"  asked  Ogden. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  drinking  off  his  glass,  and 
nodding,  in  token  of  salutation. 

"I  must  beg  you  to  accept  my  excuses  for  this  intrusion 
on  my  part,"  began  Ogden. 


THE  PUBLIC   SERVANT   ABROAD.  213 

"Jest  set  you  down  there  again;  there  's  a  point  I  'd  like 
to  be  cleared  up  about.  I  'm  sure  you  '11  not  refuse  me. 
Jest  set  down." 

Ogden  resumed  his  seat,  although  with  an  air  and  manner 
of  no  small  disinclination. 

"No  wine,  thank  you.  Excuse  me,"  said  he,  stiffly,  as 
Quackinboss  tried  to  fill  his  glass. 

''You  remarked  awhile  ago,"  said  Quackinboss,  slowly, 
and  like  a  man  weighing  all  his  words,  "that  I  was  an 
American  born.  Now,  sir,  it  ain't  a  very  likely  thing  that 
any  man  who  was  ever  raised  in  the  States  is  goin'  to  deny 
it.  It  ain't,  I  say,  very  probable  as  he  'd  say  I  'm  a  Chinese, 
or  a  Mexican,  or  a  Spaniard ;  no,  nor  a  Britisher.  What- 
ever we  do  in  this  life,  stranger,  one  thing,  I  suppose,  is 
pretty  certain,  — we  don't  say  the  worst  of  ourselves.  Ain't 
that  your  platform,  sir?  " 

"I  agree  to  the  general  principle." 

"Agreein',  then,  to  the  gen'ral  principle,  here's  where  we 
go  next,  for  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  you  off,  Britisher;  I  've 
got  a  harpoon  in  you  now,  and  I  '11  tow  you  after  me  into 
shoal  water;  see  if  I  don't.  Agreein',  as  we  say,  to  the 
gen'ral  principle,  that  no  man  likes  to  make  his  face  blacker 
than  it  need  be,  what  good  could  it  do  me  to  say  that  I 
was  n't  born  a  free  citizen  of  the  freest  country  of  the 
universe  ? " 

"I  am  really  at  a  loss  to  see  how  I  am  interested  in  this 
matter.  I  have  not,  besides,  that  perfect  leisure  abstract 
discussion  requires.  You  will  forgive  me  if  I  take  my 
leave."  He  moved  hastily  towards  the  door  as  he  spoke, 
followed  by  Quackinboss,  whose  voice  had  now  assumed  the 
full  tones  and  the  swelling  modulations  of  public  orator}'. 

"  That  great  land,  sanctified  by  the  blood  of  the  pilgrim 
fathers,  and  whose  proudest  boast  it  is  that  from  the  first 
day,  when  the  star-spangled  banner  of  Freedom  dallied  with 
the  wind  and  scorned  the  sun,  waving  its  barred  folds  over 
the  heads  of  routed  enemies, — to  that  glorious  consumma- 
tion, when,  from  the  nigged  plains  of  New  England  to  the 
golden  groves  of  Florida  —  " 

"Good-bye,  sir, — good-evening,"  said  Ogden,  passing 
out  and  gaining  the  landing-place. 


214  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  —  One  universal  shout,  floating  over  the  Atlantic  waters, 
proclaimed  to  the  Old  World  that  the  '  Young  '  was  alive 
and  kickin'  —  " 

"Good-night,"  cried  Ogden,  from  the  bottom  of  the  stairs; 
and  Quackinboss  re-entered  his  chamber  and  banged  the  door 
after  him,  muttering  something  to  himself  about  Lexington 
and  Concord,  Columbus  and  Quincy  Adams. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

BROKEN    TIES. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  morning  at  the  Villa  Caprini  on  the  22d 
of  November.  Agiucourt  had  come  to  take  his  last  farewell 
of  his  kind  friends,  half  heart-broken  that  he  was  not  per- 
mitted even  to  see  poor  Layton  before  he  went.  Quackin- 
boss,  however,  was  obdurate  on  the  point,  and  would  suffer 
no  one  to  pass  the  sick  man's  door.  Mr.  Ogden  sat  in  the 
carriage  as  the  boy  dashed  hurriedly  into  the  house  to  say 
"Good-bye."  Room  after  room  he  searched  in  vain.  No 
one  to  be  met  with.  What  could  it  mean?  —  the  drawing- 
room,  the  library,  all  empty! 

"Are  they  all  out,  Fenton?"  cried  he,  at  last. 

"No,  my  Lord,  Sir  William  was  here  a  moment  since, 
Miss  Leslie  is  in  her  room,  and  Mrs.  Morris,  I  think,  is  in 
the  garden." 

To  the  garden  he  hurried  off  at  once,  and  just  caught 
sight  of  Mrs.  Morris  and  Clara,  as,  side  by  side,  they 
turned  the  angle  of  an  alley. 

"At  last!  "  cried  he,  as  he  came  up  with  them.  "At  last 
I  have  found  some  one.  Here  have  I  been  this  half-hour  in 
search  of  you  all,  over  house  and  grounds.  Why,  what 's 
the  matter?  —  what  makes  you  look  so  grave?  " 

"Don't  you  know?  —  haven't  you  heard?"  cried  Mrs. 
Morris,  with  a  sigh. 

"Heard  what?  " 

"  Heard  that  Charles  has  gone  off,  —  started  for  P^ngland 
last  night,  with  the  intention  of  joining  the  first  regiment 
ordered  for  India." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  he  'd  have  taken  me  with  him!  "  cried 
the  boy,  eagerly. 


216  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Very  possibly,"  said  she,  dryly;  "but  Charles  was  cer- 
tainly to  blame  for  leaving  a  home  of  happiness  and  affection 
in  this  abrupt  way.  I  don't  see  how  poor  Sir  William  is 
ever  to  get  over  it,  not  to  speak  of  leaving  May  Leslie.  I 
hope,  Agincourt,  this  is  not  the  way  you  '11  treat  the  young 
lady  you  're  betrothed  to." 

"I  '11  never  get  myself  into  any  such  scrape,  depend  on  't. 
Poor  Charley ! " 

"Why  not  poor  May?  "  whispered  Mrs.  Morris. 

"Well,  poor  May,  too,  if  she  cared  for  him;  but  I  don't 
think  she  did." 

"Oh,  what  a  shame  to  say  so!  I'm  afraid  you  young 
gentlemen  are  brought  up  in  great  heresies  nowadays,  and 
don't  put  any  faith  in  love." 

Had  the  boy  been  an  acute  observer,  he  would  have 
marked  how  little  the  careless  levity  of  the  remark  coin- 
cided with  the  assumed  sadness  of  her  former  manner;  but 
he  never  noticed  this. 

"Well,"  broke  in  the  boy,  bluntly,  "why  not  marry  him, 
if  she  cared  for  him?  I  don't  suppose  you  '11  ask  me  to 
believe  that  Charley  would  have  gone  away  if  she  had  n't 
refused  him  ?  " 

"What  a  wily  serpent  it  is!  "  said  Mrs.  Morris,  smiling; 
"wanting  to  wring  confidences  from  me  whether  I  will 
or  no." 

"No.     I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  am  wily,  —  am  I,  Clara?  " 

What  Clara  answered  was  not  very  distinct,  for  her  face 
was  partly  covered  with  her  handkerchief. 

"There,  you  see  Clara  is  rather  an  unhappy  witness  to 
call  to  character.  You  'd  better  come  to  me  for  a  reputa- 
tion," said  Mrs.  Morris,  laughingly. 

"It's  no  matter,  I'm  going  away  now,"  said  he,  sorrow- 
fully. 

"Going  away,  — where?  " 

"Going  back  to  England;  they've  sent  a  man  to  capture 
me,  as  if  I  was  a  wild  beast,  and  he  's  there  at  the  door  now, 

—  precious    impatient,    too,  I  promise   you,    because   I  'm 
keeping  the  post-horses  waiting." 

"Oh,  make  him  come  in  to  luncheon.     He 's  a  gentleman, 

—  isn't  he?" 


BROKEN  TIES.  217 

"I  should  think  he  is!  A  great  political  swell,  too,  a 
something  in  the  Admiralty,  or  the  Colonies,  or  wherever 
it  is." 

"Well,  just  take  Clara,  and  she  '11  find  out  May  for  you, 
and  send  your  travelling-companion  into  the  garden  here. 
I'll  do  the  honors  to  him  till  lunch-time."  And  Mrs. 
Morris  now  turned  into  a  shady  walk,  to  think  over  what 
topics  she  should  start  for  the  amusement  of  the  great  offi- 
cial from  Downing  Street. 

If  we  were  going  to  tell  tales  of  her,  —  which  we  are  not, 

—  we  might  reveal  how  it  happened  that  she  had  seen  a 
good  deal  of  such  sort  of  people,  at  one  era  of  her  life, 
living  in  a  Blue-Book  atmosphere,  and  hearing  much  out  of 
"Hansard."  We  merely  mention  the  fact;  as  to  the  how,  it 
is  not  necessary  to  refer  to  it.  Not  more  are  we  bound  to 
say  why  she  did  not  retain  for  such  high  company  what,  in 
French,  is  called  "the  most  distinguished  consideration," 

—  why,  on  the  contrary,  she  thought  and  pronounced  them 
the  most  insupportable  of  all  bores.  Our  readers  cannot 
fail  to  have  remarked  and  appreciated  the  delicate  reserve 
we  have  unvaryingly  observed  towards  this  lady,  —  a  re- 
spectful courtesy  that  no  amount  of  our  curiosity  could 
endanger.  Now,  "charming  women,"  of  whom  Mrs.  M. 
was  certainly  one,  have  a  great  fondness  for  little  occasional 
displays  of  their  fascinations  upon  strangers.  Whether  it 
is  that  they  are  susceptible  of  those  emotions  of  vanity  that 
sway  smaller  natures,  or  whether  it  be  merely  to  keep  their 
fascinations  from  rusting  by  want  of  exercise,  is  hard  to 
say ;  but  so  is  the  fact,  and  the  enjoyment  is  all  the  higher 
when,  by  any  knowledge  of  a  speciality,  they  can  astonish 
their  chance  acquaintance.  For  what  Lord  Agincourt  had 
irreverently  styled  the  "great  political  swell,"  she  there- 
fore prepared  herself  with  such  memories  as  some  years 
of  life  had  stored  for  her.  "He'll  wonder,"  thought  she, 
"where  I  came  by  all  my  Downing  Street  slang.  I  '11  cer- 
tainly puzzle  him  with  my  cant  of  office."  And  so  think- 
ing, she  walked  briskly  along  in  the  clear  frosty  air  over  the 
crisped  leaves  that  strewed  the  walk,  till  she  beheld  a  per- 
son approaching  from  the  extreme  end  of  the  alley. 

The  distance  between  them  was  yet  considerable,  and  yet 


218  ONE   OF  THEM. 

how  was  it  that  she  seemed  to  falter  in  her  steps,  and  sud- 
denly, clasping  her  heart  with  both  hands,  appeared  seized 
with  a  sort  of  convulsion?  At  the  same  instant  she  threw 
a  terrified  glance  on  every  side,  and  looked  like  one  prepared 
for  sudden  flight.  To  these  emotions,  more  rapid  in  their 
course  than  it  has  taken  time  to  describe  them,  succeeded  a 
cold,  determined  calm,  in  which  her  features  regained  their 
usual  expression,  though  marked  by  a  paleness  like  death. 

The  stranger  came  slowly  forward,  examining  the  trees 
and  flowers  as  he  passed  along,  and  peering  with  his  double 
eye-glass  to  read  the  names  attached  to  whatever  was  rarest. 
Affecting  to  be  gathering  flowers  for  a  bouquet,  she  stooped 
frequently,  till  the  other  came  near,  and  then,  as  he  removed 
his  hat  to  salute  her,  she  threw  back  her  veil  and  stood, 
silent,  before  him. 

"Madam!  madam!"  cried  he,  in  a  voice  of  such  intense 
agony  as  showed  that  he  was  almost  choked  for  utterance. 
"How  is  this,  madam?"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  indignant 
demand.     "How  is  this?" 

"I  have  really  no  explanation  to  offer,  sir,"  said  she,  in 
a  cold,  low  voice.  "My  astonishment  is  great  as  your 
own;  this  meeting  is  not  of  my  seeking.  I  need  scarcely 
say  so  much." 

"I  do  not  know  that!  —  by  Heaven  I  do  not!  "  cried  he, 
in  a  passion. 

"You  are  surely  forgetting,  sir,  that  we  are  no  longer 
anything  to  each  other,  and  thus  forgetting  the  deference 
due  to  me  as  a  stranger?  " 

"I  neither  forget  nor  forgive! "  said  he,  sternly. 

"Happily,  sir,  you  will  not  be  called  upon  to  do  either. 
I  no  longer  bear  your  name  —  " 

"Oh  that  you  had  never  borne  it!  "  cried  he,  in  agony. 

"There  is  at  least  one  sentiment  we  agree  in,  sir,  — would 
that  I  never  had!  "  said  she;  and  a  slight  —  very  slight  — 
tremor  shook  the  words  as  she  spoke  them. 

"Tell  me  at  once,  madam,  what  do  you  mean  by  this  sur- 
prise? I  know  all  your  skill  in  accidents^  —  what  does  this 
one  portend  ?  " 

"You  are  too  flattering,  sir,  believe  me,"  said  she,  with 
an  easy  smile.     "I  have  plotted  nothing,  — I  have  nothing 


BROKEN  TIES.  219 

to  plot,  —  at  least,  iu  which  you  are  concerned.  The 
unhappy  bond  that  once  united  us  is  loosed  forever;  but  I 
do  not  see  that  even  harsh  memories  are  to  suggest  bad 
manners." 

"I  am  no  stranger  to  your  flippancy,  madam.  You  have 
made  me  acquainted  with  all  your  merits." 

"You  were  going  to  say  virtues,  George,  —  confess  you 
were?"  said  she,  coquettishly. 

"Gracious  mercy,  woman!  can  you  dare  —  " 

"My  dear  Mr.  Ogden,"  broke  she  iu,  gentl}^  "I  can  dare 
to  be  that  which  you  have  just  told  me  was  impossible  for 
you, — forgetful  and  forgiving." 

"Oh,  madam,  this  is,  indeed,  generous!"  said  he,  with  a 
bitter  mockery. 

"Well,  sir,  it  were  no  bad  thing  if  there  were  a  little  gen- 
erosity between  us.  Don't  fancy  that  all  the  forgiveness 
should  couie  from  you;  don't  imagine  that /am  not  plaintiff 
as  well  as  defendant."  Then,  suddenly  changing  her  tone 
to  one  of  easy  indifference,  she  said,  "And  so  your  impres- 
sion is,  sir,  that  the  Cabinet  will  undergo  no  change?" 

She  looked  hurriedly  round  as  she  spoke,  and  saw  Sir 
William  Heathcote  coming  rapidly  towards  them. 

"Sir  William,  let  me  present  to  you  Mr.  Ogden,  a  name 
you  must  be  familiar  with  in  the  debates,"  said  she,  intro- 
ducing them. 

"I  hope  Lord  Agincourt  has  not  been  correct  in  telling 
me  that  you  are  pressed  for  time,  Mr.  Ogden.  I  trust  you 
will  give  us  at  least  a  day." 

"Not  an  hour,  not  a  minute,  sir.  I  mean,"  added  he, 
ashamed  of  his  violence,  "I  have  not  an  instant  to  spare." 

"You'll  scarcely  profit  by  leaving  us  this  morning,"  re- 
sumed Sir  William.  "The  torrents  between  this  and  Massa 
are  all  full,  and  perfectly  impassable." 

"Pray  accept  Sir  William's  wise  counsels,  sir,"  said  she, 
with  the  sweetest  of  all  smiles. 

A  stern  look,  and  a  muttered  something  inaudible,  was 
all  his  reply. 

"What  a  dreary  servitude  must  political  life  be,  when 
one  cannot  bestow  a  passing  hour  upon  society!  "  said  she, 
plaintively. 


220  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Mr.  Ogden  could  tell  us  that  the  rewards  are  worthy  of 
the  sacrifices,"  said  Sir  "William,  blandly. 

"Are  they  better  than  the  enjoyments  of  leisure,  the 
delights  of  friendship,  and  the  joys  of  home?"  asked  she, 
half  earnestly. 

"By  Heaven,  madam!"  cried  Ogden,  and  then  stopped; 
when  Sir  William  broke  in,  — 

"Mrs.  Morris  is  too  severe  upon  public  men.  They 
are  rarely  called  on  to  make  such  sacrifices  as  she  speaks 
of." 

While  thus  talking,  they  had  reached  the  terrace  in  front 
of  the  house,  where  Agincourt  was  standing  between  May 
and  Clara,  holding  a  hand  of  each. 

"Are  you  ready?"  asked  Ogden,  abruptly. 

"Ready;  but  very  sorry  to  go,"  said  the  boy,  bluntly. 

"May  we  not  offer  you  some  luncheon,  Mr.  Ogden?  You 
will  surely  take  a  glass  of  wine  with  us?" 

"Nothing,  sir,  nothing.  Nothing  beneath  the  same  roof 
with  this  woman,"  muttered  he,  below  his  breath;  but  her 
quick  ears  caught  the  words,  and  she  whispered,  — 

"An  unkind  speech,  George,  — most  unkind!  " 

While  Agincourt  was  taking  his  last  affectionate  farewells 
of  the  girls  and  Sir  William,  Mr.  Ogden  had  entered  the 
carriage,  and  thrown  himself  deeply  back  into  a  corner. 
Mrs.  MoiTis,  however,  leaned  over  the  door,  and  ooked 
calmly,  steadfastly  at  him. 

"Won't  you  say  good-b3^e?"  said  she,  softly. 

A  look  of  insulting  contempt  was  all  his  answer. 

"Not  one  kind  word  at  parting?  Well,  I  am  better  than 
you;  here  's  my  hand."  And  she  held  out  her  fair  and  taper 
fingers  towards  him. 

"Fiend,  —  not  woman!  "  was  his  muttered  expression  as 
he  turned  away. 

"And  a  pleasant  journey,"  said  she,  as  if  finishing  a 
speech;  while  turning,  she  gave  her  hand  to  Agincourt. 
"Yes,  to  be  sure,  you  may  take  a  boy's  privilege,  and  give 
me  a  kiss  at  parting,"  said  she;  while  the  youth,  blushing 
a  deep  crimson,  availed  himself  of  the  permission. 

"There  they  go,"  said  Sir  William,  as  the  horses  rattled 
down  the  avenue;  "and  a  finer  boy  and  a  grumpier  com- 


BROKEN  TIES.  221 

panion  it  has  rarely  been  my  lot  to  meet  with.  A  thousand 
pardons,  my  dear  Mrs.  Morris,  if  he  is  a  friend  of  yours." 

"I  knew  him  formerly,"  said  she,  coldly.  "I  can't  say 
I  ever  liked  him." 

"I  remember  his  name,"  said  Sir  William,  in  a  sort  of 
hesitating  way;  ""there  was  some  story  or  other  about  him, 
—  either  his  wife  ran  away,  or  he  eloped  with  somebody's 
wife." 

"I  'm  sure  it  must  have  been  the  former,"  said  Mrs. 
Morris,  laughing.  "Poor  gentleman,  he  does  not  give  one 
the  impression  of  a  Lothario.  But  whom  have  we  here? 
The  O'Shea,  I  declare!  Look  to  your  heart.  May  dearest; 
take  my  word  for  it,  he  never  turned  out  so  smartly  without 
dreams  of  conquest."  Mr.  O'Shea  cantered  up  at  the  same 
moment,  followed  by  Joe  in  a  most  accurate  "get  up"  as 
groom,  and,  dismounting,  advanced,  hat  in  hand,  to  salute 
the  party. 

There  are  blank  days  in  this  life  of  ours  in  which  even  a 
pleasant  visitor  is  a  bore, —  times  in  which  dulness  and  seclu- 
sion are  the  best  company,  and  it  is  anything  but  a  boon  to 
be  broken  in  upon.  It  was  the  O'Shea's  evil  fortune  to  have 
fallen  on  one  of  these.  It  was  in  vain  he  recounted  his  club 
gossip  about  politics  and  party  to  Sir  William;  in  vain  he 
told  Mrs.  Morris  the  last  touching  episode  of  town  scandal; 
in  vain,  even,  did  he  present  a  fresh  bouquet  of  lily-of-the- 
valley  to  May :  each  in  turn  passed  him  on  to  the  other,  till 
he  found  himself  alone  with  Clara,  who  sat  sorrowfully  over 
the  German  lesson  Layton  was  wont  to  help  her  with. 

"What 's  the  matter  with  you  all?  "  cried  he,  half  angrily, 
as  he  walked  the  room  from  end  to  end.  "Has  there  any 
misfortune  happened  ?  " 

"Charley  has  left  us,  Agincourt  is  just  gone,  the  pleasant 
house  is  broken  up;  is  not  that  enough  to  make  us  sad?" 
said  she,  sorrowfully. 

"  If  you  ever  read  Tommy  Moore,  you  'd  know  it  was  only 
another  reason  to  make  the  most  of  the  friends  that  were  left 
behind,"  said  he,  adjusting  his  cravat  at  the  glass,  and 
giving  himself  a  leer  of  knowing  recognition.  "That's  the 
time  of  day,  Clara  !  " 

She  looked  at  him,  somewhat  puzzled  to  know  whether  he 


222  ONE   OF  THEM. 

had  alluded  to  his  sentiment,  his  whiskers,  which  he  was 
now  caressing,  or  the  French  clock  on  the  mantelpiece. 

"Is  that  one  of  Layton's?"  said  he,  carelessly  turning 
over  a  water-colored  sketch  of  a  Lucchese  landscape. 

"Yes,"  said  she,  replacing  it  carefully  in  a  portfolio. 

"  He  won't  do  many  more  of  them,  I  suspect." 

' '  How  so  ?  —  why  ?  —  what  do  you  mean  ? "  cried  she, 
grasping  his  arm,  while  a  death-like  paleness  spread  over 
her  features. 

"Just  that  he's  going  as  fast  as  he  can.  What's  the 
mischief !  is  it  fainting  she  is  ?  " 

With  a  low,  weak  sigh,  the  girl  had  relaxed  her  hold,  and, 
staggering  backwards,  sunk  senseless  on  the  floor.  O'Shea 
tugged  violently'  at  the  bell :  the  servant  rushed  in,  and  im- 
mediately after  Mrs.  Morris  herself;  but  by  this  time  Clara 
had  regained  consciousness,  and  was  able  to  utter  a  few 
words. 

"I  was  telling  her  of  Layton's  being  so  ill,"  began  he,  in 
a  whisper,  to  Mrs.  Morris. 

"Of  course  you  were,"  said  she,  pettishly.  "For  an 
inconvenience  or  an  indiscretion,  what  can  equal  an  Irish- 
man? " 

The  speech  was  uttered  as  she  led  her  daughter  away, 
leaving  the  luckless  O'Shea  alone  to  ruminate  over  the 
politeness. 

"  There  it  is !  "  cried  he,  indignantly.  "  From  the  '  Times ' 
down  to  the  Widow  Morris,  it 's  the  same  story,  —  the  Irish ! 
the  Irish  !  —  and  it 's  no  use  fighting  against  it.  Smash  the 
Minister  in  Parliament,  and  you  '11  be  told  it  was  a  speech 
more  adapted  to  an  Irish  House  of  Commons  ;  break  the 
Sikh  squares  with  the  bayonet,  and  the  cry  is  '  Tipperary 
tactics.'  Is  n't  it  a  wonder  how  we  bear  it !  I  ask  any 
man,  did  he  ever  hear  of  patience  like  ours  ? " 

It  was  just  as  his  indignation  had  reached  this  crisis  that 
May  Leslie  hurriedly  came  into  the  room  to  search  for  a 
locket  Clara  had  dropped  when  she  fainted.  While  O'Shea 
assisted  her  in  her  search,  he  bethought  whether  the  favor- 
able moment  had  not  arrived  to  venture  on  the  great  question 
of  his  own  fate.  It  was  true,  he  was  still  smarting  under  a 
national  disparagement;    but   the  sarcasm  gave  a  sort  of 


BROKEN  TIES.  223 

reckless  energy  to  his  purpose,  and  he  muttered,  "  Now,  or 
never,  for  it !  " 

"I  suppose  it  was  a  keepsake,"  said  he,  as  he  peered 
under  the  tables  after  the  missing  object. 

"I  believe  so.  At  least,  the  poor  child  attaches  great 
value  to  it." 

"Oh  dear!"  sighed  O'Shea.  "If  it  was  an  old  bodkin 
that  was  given  me  by  one  I  loved,  I'd  go  through  fire  and 
water  to  get  possession  of  it." 

"Indeed!"  said  she,  smiling  at  the  unwonted  energy  of 
the  protestation. 

"I  would,"  repeated  he,  more  solemnly.  "It's  not  the 
value  of  the  thing  itself  I  'd  ever  think  of.  There  's  the  ring 
was  wore  by  my  great-grandmother  Ram,  of  Ram's  Moun- 
tain ;  and  though  it 's  a  rose-amethyst,  worth  three  hundred 
guineas,  it 's  only  as  a  family  token  it  has  merit  in  my 
eyes." 

Now  this  speech,  discursive  though  it  seemed,  was  artfully 
intended  by  the  Honorable  Member,  for  while  incidentally 
throwing  out  claims  to  blood  and  an  ancestry,  it  cunningly 
insinuated  what  logicians  call  the  a  fortiori,  —  how  the  man 
who  cared  so  much  for  his  grandmother  would  necessarily 
adore  his  wife. 

"  We  must  give  it  up,  I  see,"  said  May.  "  She  has  e\a- 
dently  not  lost  it  here." 

"  And  it  was  a  heart,  you  say  !  "  sighed  the  Member. 

"  Yes,  a  little  golden  heart  with  a  ruby  clasp." 

"Oh  dear!  And  to  think  that  I 've  lost  my  own  in  the 
self-same  spot." 

"  Yours  !     Why,  had  you  a  locket  too?  " 

"No,  my  angel!"  cried  he,  passionately,  as  he  clasped 
her  hand,  and  fell  on  his  knee  before  her,  "  but  my  heart,  — 
a  heart  that  lies  under  your  feet  this  minute !  There,  don't 
turn  away,  —  don't !  May  I  never,  if  I  know  what 's  come 
over  me  these  two  months  back  !  Night  or  day,  it  is  the  one 
image  is  always  before  me,  —  one  voice  alwaj's  in  my  ears." 

"  How  tiresome  that  must  be  !  "  said  she,  laughing  merrily. 
"  There,  pray  let  go  my  hand  ;  this  is  only  folly,  and  not  in 
very  good  taste,  either." 

"  Folly,  you  call  it?     Love  is  madness,  if  you  like.     Out 


224  ONE   OF   THEM. 

of  this  spot  I  '11  never  stir  till  I  know  my  fate.  Say  the  word, 
and  I  'm  the  happiest  man  or  the  most  abject  creature  — 
You  're  laughing  again,  —  I  wonder  how  you  can  be  so 
cruel !  " 

"  Really,  sir,  if  I  regard  your  conduct  as  only  absurd,  it 
is  a  favorable  view  of  it,"  said  she,  angrily. 

"  Do,  darling  of  my  soul!  light  of  my  eyes!  loadstar  of 
my  whole  destiny !  —  do  take  a  favorable  view  of  it,"  said 
he.  catching  at  her  last  words. 

' '  I  have  certainly  given  you  no  pretence  to  make  me 
ridiculous,  sir,"  said  she,  indignantly. 

"Ridiculous!  ridiculous!"  cried  he,  in  utter  amazement. 
"Sure  it's  my  hand  I'm  offering  you.  What  were  you 
thinking  of?  " 

"  I  believe  I  apprehend  you  aright,  sir,  and  have  only  to 
say,  that,  however  honored  by  your  proposal,  it  is  one  I 
must  decline." 

"  Would  n't  you  tell  me  why,  darling?  Would  n't  you  say 
your  reasons,  my  angel?  Don't  shake  your  head,  my  adored 
creature,  but  turn  this  way,  and  say,  '  Gorman,  your  affec- 
tion touches  me :  I  see  your  love  for  me ;  but  I  'm  afraid  of 
you  :  you  're  light  and  fickle  and  inconstant ;  you  're  spoiled 
by  flattery  among  the  women,  and  deference  and  respect 
amongst  the  men.  What  can  I  hope  from  a  nature  so 
pampered?' " 

"No,  in  good  truth,  Mr.  O'Shea,  not  one  of  these  objec- 
tions have  occurred  to  me ;  my  answer  was  dictated  by  much 
narrower  and  more  selfish  considerations.  At  all  events,  sir, 
it  is  final ;  and  I  need  only  appeal  to  your  sense  of  good- 
breeding  never  to  resume  a  subject  I  have  told  you  is  dis- 
tasteful to  me."  And  with  a  heightened  color,  and  a  glance 
which  certainly  betokened  no  softness,  she  turned  away  and 
left  him. 

"Distasteful!  distasteful!"  muttered  he  over  her  last 
words.  "Women!  women!  women!  there 's  no  knowing  ye 
—  the  devil  a  bit !  What  you  'd  like,  and  what  you  would  n't 
is  as  great  a  secret  as  the  philosopher's  stone !  Heigho !  " 
sighed  he,  as  he  opened  his  cravat,  and  drew  in  a  long  breath. 
"I  did  n't  take  a  canter  like  that,  these  five  3^ears,  and  it  has 
sent  all  the  blood  to  my  head.     I  hope  she  '11  not  mention  it. 


BROKEN  TIES.  225 

I  hope  she  won't  tell  it  to  the  widow,"  muttered  he,  as  he 
walked  to  the  window  for  air.  "  She's  the  one  would  take 
her  own  fun  out  of  it.  Upon  my  conscience,  this  is  mighty 
like  apoplexy,"  said  he,  as,  sitting  down,  he  fanned  himself 
with  a  book. 

"  Poor  Mr,  O'Shea !  "  said  a  soft  voice ;  and,  looking  up, 
he  saw  Mrs.  Morris,  as,  leaning  over  the  back  of  his  chair, 
she  bent  on  him  a  look  half  quizzical  and  half  compassionate. 
"  Poor  Mr.  O'Shea  !  " 

"  Why  so?     How? "  asked  he,  with  an  affected  jocularity. 
"  Well,"  said  she,  with  a  faint  sigh,  "  you  're  not  the  first 
man  has  drawn  a  blank  in  the  lottery." 

"  I  suppose  not,"  muttered  he,  half  sulkily. 
"  Nor  will  it  prevent  you  trying  your  luck  another  time," 
said  she,  in  the  same  tone. 

"What  did  she  say?  How  did  she  mention  it?"  whis- 
pered he,  confidentially. 

"  She  didn't  believe  you  were  serious  at  first;  she  thought 
it  a  jest.  Why  did  you  fall  on  your  knees?  it's  never  done 
now,  except  on  the  stage." 

"How  did  /  know  that?"  cried  he,  peevishly.  "One 
ought  to  be  proposing  every  day  of  the  week  to  keep  up  with 
the  fashions." 

"  If  you  had  taken  a  chair  at  her  side,  a  little  behind  hers, 
so  as  not  to  scrutinize  her  looks  too  closely,  and  stolen  your 
hand  gently  forward,  as  if  to  touch  the  embroidery  she  was 
at  work  on,  and  then,  at  last,  her  hand,  letting  your  voice 
grow  lower  and  softer  at  each  word,  till  the  syllables  would 
seem  to  drop,  distilled  from  your  heart  —  " 

"  The  devil  a  bit  of  that  I  could  do  at  all,"  cried  he,  im- 
patiently. "  If  I  can't  make  the  game  off  the  balls,"  said 
he,  taking  a  metaphor  from  his  billiard  experiences,  "  I  'm 
good  for  nothing.  P>ut  will  she  come  round  ?  Do  you  think 
she  '11  change  ?  " 

"  No;  I  'm  afraid  not,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head. 
"Faix!  she  might  do  worse,"  said  he,  resolutely.      "Do 
you  know  that  she  might  do  worse?     If  the  mortgages  was 
off,   O'Shea-Ville   is   seventeen    hundred    a   year ;  and,    for 
family,  we  beat  the  county." 

"  I  've  no  doubt  of  it,"  replied  she,  calmly. 
16 


226  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"There  was  ancestors  of  mine  hanged  by  Henry  the 
Second,  and  one  was  strangled  in  prison  two  reigns  before," 
said  he,  proudly.  "The  O'Sheas  was  shedding  their  ])lood 
for  Ireland  eight  centuries  ago !  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Mortagh  DhubO'Shea?" 

"  Never!  "  said  she,  mournfully. 

"  There  it  is,"  sighed  he,  drearily  ;  "  mushrooms  is  bigger, 
nowadays,  than  oak-trees."  And  with  this  dreary  reflection 
he  arose  and  took  his  hat. 

"  Won't  you  dine  here?  I'm  sure  they  expect  you  to  stop 
for  dinner,"  said  she ;  but  whether  a  certain  devilry  in  her 
laughing  eye  made  the  speech  seem  insincere,  or  that  his  own 
distrust  prompted  it,  he  said,  — 

"  No,  I  '11  not  stop  ;  I  could  n't  eat  a  bit  if  I  did." 

"  Come,  come,  you  mustn't  take  it  to  heart  in  this  way," 
said  she,  coaxingly. 

"Do  you  think  you  could  do  anything  for  me?"  said  he, 
taking  her  hand  in  his  ;  "  for,  to  tell  truth,  it's  my  pride  is 
hurt.  As  we  say  in  the  House  of  Commons,  now  that  my 
name  is  on  the  Bill,  I  'd  like  to  carry  it  through.  You  under- 
stand that  feeling?" 

"Perhaps  I  do,"  said  she,  doubtfully,  while,  throwing 
herself  into  a  chair,  she  leaned  back,  so  as  to  display  a  little 
more  than  was  absolutely  and  indispensably  necessary  of  a 
beautifully  rounded  ankle  and  instep.  Mr.  O'Shea  saw  it, 
and  marked  it.  There  was  no  denying  she  was  pretty,  — 
pretty,  too,  in  those  feminine  and  delicate  graces  which  have 
special  attractions  for  men  somewhat  hackneyed  in  life,  and 
a  "little  shoulder-sore  with  the  collar"  of  the  world.  As 
the  Member  gazed  at  the  silky  curls  of  her  rich  auburn  hair, 
the  long  fringes  that  shadowed  her  fair  cheeks,  and  the  grace- 
ful lines  of  her  beautiful  figure,  he  gave  a  sigh,  —  one  of 
those  a  man  inadvertently  heaves  when  contemplating  some 
rare  object  in  a  shop-window,  which  his  means  forbid  him  to 
purchase.  It  was  only  as  he  heaved  a  second  and  far  deeper 
one,  that  she  looked  up,  and  with  an  arch  drollery  of  expres- 
sion all  her  own,  said,  as  if  answering  him,  "  Yes,  ^^ou  are 
quite  right;  but  you  know  you  could  n't  afford  it." 

"What  do  you  mean, — not  afford  what?"  cried  he, 
blushing  deeply. 


BROKEN  TIES.  227 

"  Nor  could  7,  either,"  continued  she,  heedless  of  his 
interruption. 

"  Faith,  then,"  cried  he,  with  energy,  "  it  was  just  what  I 
was  thinking  of." 

"But,  after  all,"  said  she,  gravely,  "it  wouldn't  do; 
privateers  must  never  sail  in  company.  I  believe  there 's 
nothing  truer  than  that." 

He  continued  to  look  at  her,  with  a  strange  mixture  of 
admiration  and  astonishment. 

"And  so,"  said  she,  rising,  "let  us  part  good  friends, 
who  may  hope  each  to  serve  the  other  one  of  these  days.  Is 
that  a  bargain?"     And  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"I  swear  to  it!  "  cried  he,  pressing  his  lips  to  her  fingers. 
"And  now  that  you  know  my  sentiments  —  " 

"Hush!"  cried  she,  with  a  gesture  of  warning,  for  she 
heard  the  voices  of  servants  in  the  corridor.  "Trust  me; 
and  good-bye !  " 

"  One  ought  always  to  have  an  Irishman  amongst  one's 
admirers,"  said  she,  as,  once  more  alone,  she  arranged  her 
ringlets  before  the  glass;  "if  there's  any  fighting  to  be 
done,  he's  sure  not  to  fail  you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    DAY    IN    EARLY    SPRING. 

That  twilight  of  the  year  called  spring,  most  delightful  of 
all  seasons,  is  scarcely  known  in  Italy.  AVinter  dies  lan- 
guidly away,  and  summer  bursts  forth  at  once,  and  in  a  few 
days  the  trees  are  clothed  in  full  foliage,  the  tall  grass  is 
waving,  and  panting  lizards  sun  themselves  on  the  rocks 
over  which  so  lately  the  mountain  torrent  was  foaming. 
There  are,  however,  a  few  days  of  transition,  and  these  are 
inexpressibly  delicious.  The  balmy  air  scented  with  the 
rose  and  the  violet  stirs  gently  through  the  olive-trees,  shak- 
ing the  golden  limes  amidst  the  dark  leaves,  and  carrying 
away  the  sweet  perfume  on  its  breath ;  rivulets  run  bright 
and  clear  through  rocky  channels,  mingling  their  murmurs 
with  the  early  cicala.  The  acacia  sheds  its  perfume  on  the 
breeze,  —  a  breeze  so  faint,  as  though  it  loved  to  linger  on 
its  way;  and  so,  above,  the  lazy  clouds  hang  upon  the 
mountains,  or  float  in  fragments  out  to  sea,  as  day  wears  on. 
What  vitality  there  is  in  it  all !  —  the  rustling  leaves,  the 
falling  water,  the  chirping  birds,  the  softly  plashing  tide,  all 
redolent  of  that  happy  season,  —  the  year's  bright  youth. 

On  such  a  day  as  this  Alfred  Layton  strolled  languidly 
through  the  grounds  of  Marlia.  Three  mouths  of  severe 
illness  had  worn  him  to  a  shadow,  and  he  walked  with  the 
debility  of  one  who  had  just  escaped  from  a  sick-room.  The 
place  was  now  deserted.  The  Ileathcotes  had  gone  to  Rome 
for  the  winter,  and  the  Villa  was  shut  up  and  untenanted. 
It  had  been  a  cherished  wish  of  poor  Layton  to  visit  the  spot 
as  soon  as  he  could  venture  abroad  ;  and  Quackinboss,  the 
faithful  friend  who  had  nursed  him  through  his  whole  illness, 
had  that  day  yielded  to  his  persuasion  and  brought  him 
there. 


A  DAY  IN  EARLY  SPRING.  229 

Who  could  have  recognized  the  young  and  handsome 
youth  in  the  broken-down,  feeble,  careworn  man  who  now 
leaned  over  the  palings  of  a  little  flower-garden,  and  gazed 
mournfully  at  a  rustic  bench  beneath  a  lime-tree?  Ay,  there 
it  was,  in  that  very  spot,  one  chapter  of  his  life  was  finished. 
It  was  there  she  had  refused  him !  He  had  no  right,  it  is 
true,  to  have  presumed  so  highly ;  there  was  nothing  in  his 
position  to  warrant  such  daring  ;  but  had  she  not  encouraged 
him?  That  was  the  question  ;  he  believed  so,  at  least.  She 
had  seen  his  devotion  to  her,  and  had  not  repulsed  it.  Nay, 
more,  she  had  suffered  him  to  speak  to  her  of  feelings  and 
emotions,  of  hopes  and  fears  and  ambitions,  that  only  they 
are  led  to  speak  who  talk  to  willing  ears.  Was  this  encour- 
agement, or  was  it  the  compassionate  pity  of  one,  to  him,  so 
friendless  and  alone?  May  certainly  knew  that  he  loved 
her.  She  had  even  resented  his  little  passing  attentions  to 
Mrs.  Morris,  and  was  actually  jealous  of  the  hours  he  be- 
stowed on  Clara ;  and  yet,  with  all  this,  she  had  refused 
him,  and  told  him  not  to  hope  that,  even  with  time,  her 
feeling  towards  him  should  change.  "  How  could  it  be 
otherwise?"  cried  he  to  himself.  "What  was  I,  to  have 
pretended  so  highly?  Her  husband  should  be  able  to  offer 
a  station  superior  to  her  own.  So  thought  she,  too,  herself. 
How  her  words  ring  in  my  ears  even  yet :  '  I  do  love  rank  ' ! 
Yes,  it  was  there,  on  that  spot,  she  said  it.  I  made  con- 
fession of  my  love,  and  she,  in  turn,  told  me  of  hers ;  and  it 
was  the  world,  the  great  and  gorgeous  prize,  for  which  men 
barter  everything.  And  then  her  cold  smile,  as  I  said, 
'  What  is  this  same  rank  you  prize  so  highly  ;  can  I  not 
reach  it  —  win  it?  '  'I  will  not  waste  youth  in  struggle  and 
conflict,'  said  she.  'Ha!'  cried  I,  'these  words  are  not 
yours.  I  heard  them  one  short  week  ago.  I  know  your 
teacher  now.  It  was  that  false-hearted  woman  gave  you 
these  precious  maxims.  It  was  not  thus  you  spoke  or  felt 
when  first  I  knew  you,  May.'  '  Is  it  not  well,'  said  she, 
'that  we  have  each  grown  wiser?'  I  heard  no  more.  I 
have  no  memory  for  the  passionate  words  I  uttered,  the 
bitter  reproaches  I  dared  to  make  her.  We  parted  in  anger, 
never  to  meet  again ;  and  then  poor  Clara,  how  I  hear  her 
faint,  soft  voice,  as  she  found  me  sitting  there  alone,  for- 


230  ONE  OF  THEM. 

saken,  as  she  asked  rae,  'May  I  take  these  flowers?'  and 
oh  !  how  bitterly  she  wept  as  I  suatehed  them  from  her  hand, 
and  scattered  them  on  the  ground,  saying,  '  They  were  not 
meant  for  you ! '  '  Let  me  have  one,  dear  Alfred,'  said  she, 
just  then ;  and  she  took  up  a  little  jasmine  flower  from  the 
walk.  '  Even  that  you  despise  to  give  is  dear  to  me  !  "  And 
so  I  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and  said,  '  Good-bye.'  Two 
partings,  —  never  to  meet  again  !  "  He  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  and  his  chest  heaved  heavily. 

"  It 's  main  dreary  in  these  diggiu's  here,"  cried  Quackin- 
boss,  as  he  came  up  with  long  strides.  "  I  've  been  a-lookin' 
about  on  every  side  to  find  some  one  to  open  the  house  for 
us,  but  there  ain't  a  crittur  to  be  found.  What 's  all  this 
about?     You  haven't  been  a-cryin',  have  you?'' 

Alfred  turned  away  his  head  without  speaking. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is,  Layton,"  said  he,  earnestly, 
"  there  's  no  manner  of  misfortune  can  befall  in  life  that  one 
need  to  fret  over,  but  the  death  of  friends,  or  sickness ;  and 
as  these  are  God's  own  doin',  it  is  not  for  us  to  say  they  're 
wrong.  Cheer  up,  man ;  you  and  I  are  a-goin'  to  fight  the 
world  together." 

"  You  have  been  a  true  friend  to  ??ie,"  said  Layton,  grasp- 
ing the  other's  hand,  while  he  held  his  head  still  averted. 

"Well,  I  mean  to,  that's  a  fact;  but  you  must  rouse 
yourself,  lad.  We  're  a-goin'  'cross  seas,  and  amongst 
fellows  that,  whatever  they  do  with  their  spare  time,  give 
none  of  it  to  grief.  Who  ever  saw  John  C.  Colhoun  cry? 
Did  any  one  ever  catch  Dan  Webster  in  tears  ?  " 

"  I  was  n't  crying,"  said  Layton  ;  "I  was  only  saddened 
to  see  again  a  spot  where  I  used  to  be  so  happy.  I  was 
thinking  of  bygones." 

"  I  take  it  bygones  is  very  little  use  if  they  don't  teach 
us  something  more  than  to  grieve  over  'em ;  and,  what 's 
more,  Layton,  —  it  sounds  harsh  to  say  it,  —  but  grief,  when 
it 's  long  persisted  in,  is  downright  selfishness,  and  nothing 
else." 

Layton  slipped  his  arm  within  the  other's  to  move  away, 
but  as  he  did  so  he  turned  one  last  look  towards  the  little 
garden. 

"  I  see  it  all  now,"   said  Quackinboss,  as   they  walked 


A  DAY   IN   EARLY   SPRING.  231 

along;  "you've  been  and  met  a  sweetheart  down  here  once 
on  a  time,  that's  it.  She's  been  what  they  call  cruel,  or 
she  's  broke  her  word  to  you.  Well,  I  dou't  suppose  there  's 
one  man  liviu'  —  of  what  might  be  called  real  men  —  as 
has  n't  had  something  of  the  same  experience.  Some  has  it 
early,  some  late,  but  it 's  like  the  measles,  it  pushes  you  main 
hard  if  you  dou't  take  it  when  you  're  young.  There  's  no 
bending  an  old  bough,  — you  must  break  it." 

There  was  a  deep  tone  of  melancholy  in  the  way  the  last 
words  were  uttered  that  made  Laytou  feel  his  companion 
was  speaking  from  the  heart. 

''But  it's  all  our  own  fault,"  broke  in  Quackiuboss, 
quickly;   "it  all  comes  of  the  way  we  treat  'em." 

"  How  do  you  mean?"  asked  Lay  ton,  eagerly. 

"I  mean,"  said  the  other,  resolutely,  "we  treat  'em  as 
reasonable  beings,  and  they  ain't.  No,  sir,  women  is  like 
Red-men ;  they  ain't  to  be  persuaded,  or  argued  with ; 
they  're  to  be  told  what  is  right  for  'em,  and  good  for  'em, 
and  that 's  all.  What  does  all  your  courting  and  coaxing  a 
gal,  but  make  her  think  herself  something  better  than  all 
creation  ?  Why,  you  keep  a-tellin'  her  so  all  day,  and  she 
begins  to  believe  it  at  last.  Now,  how  much  better  and 
fairer  to  say  to  her,  '  Here  's  how  it  is,  miss,  you  've  got  to 
marry  me,  that's  how  it's  fixed.'     She'll  understand  that." 

"  But  if  she  says,   '  No,  I  won't '  ?  " 

"No,  no,"  said  Quackiuboss,  with  a  half-bitter  smile, 
"  she  '11  never  say  that  to  the  man  as  knows  how  to  tell  her 
his  mind.  And  as  for  that  courtship,  it's  all  a  mistake. 
Why,  women  won't  confess  they  like  a  man,  just  to  keep  the 
game  a-movin'.  I  'm  blest  if  they  don't  like  it  better  than 
marriage." 

Layton  gave  a  faint  smile,  but,  faint  as  it  was,  Quackiu- 
boss perceived  it,  and  said,  — 

"Now,  don't  you  go  a-persuadin'  yourself  these  are  all 
Yankee  notions  and  such-like.  I  'm  a-talkin'  of  human 
natur',  and  there  ain't  many  as  knows  more  of  that  article 
than  Leonidas  Sliaver  (Quackiuboss.  All  you  Old- World 
folk  make  one  great  mistake,  and  nothing  shows  so  clearly 
as  how  you  're  a  worn-out  race,  used  up  and  done  for.  You 
live  too  much  with  your  emotions  and  your  feelin's.     Have 


232  ONE   OF   THEM. 

you  never  remarked  that  when  the  tap-root  of  a  tree  strikes 
down  too  far,  it  gets  into  a  cold  soil?  And  from  that  day 
for'ard  you  '11  never  see  fruit  or  blossom  more.  That 's  just 
the  very  thing  you  're  a-doin'.  You  ain't  satisfied  to  be 
active  and  thrivin'  and  healthful,  but  you  must  go  a-specu- 
latin'  about  why  you  are  this,  and  why  you  ain't  t'  other. 
Get  work  to  do,  sir,  and  do  it." 

"It  is  what  I  intend,"  said  Lay  ton,  in  a  low  voice. 

"There  ain't  nothing  like  labor,"  said  Quackinboss,  with 
energy;  "work  keeps  the  devil  out  of  a  man's  mind,  for 
somehow  there  's  nothing  that  black  fellow  loves  like  loafing. 
And  whenever  I  see  a  great,  tall,  well-whiskered  chap  lean- 
ing over  a  balcony  in  a  grand  silk  dressing-gown,  with  a 
gold  stitched  cap  on  his  head,  and  he  a-y awning,  I  say  to 
myself,  '  Maybe  I  don't  know  iclio  's  at  your  elbow  now  ;'  and 
when  I  see  one  of  our  strapping  Western  fellows,  as  he  has 
given  the  last  stroke  of  his  hatchet  to  a  pine-tree,  and  stands 
back  to  let  it  fall,  wiping  the  honest  sweat  from  his  brow,  as 
his  eyes  turn  upward  over  the  tree-tops  to  something  higher 
than  them,  I  say  to  my  heart,  '  All  right,  there  ;  he  knows 
who  it  was  gave  him  the  strength  to  lay  that  sixty-foot  stem 
so  low.' " 

"  You  say  truly,"  muttered  Layton. 

"  I  know  it,  sir;  I've  been  a-loafing  myself  these  last  three 
years,  and  I  've  run  more  to  seed  in  that  time  than  in  all  my 
previous  life ;  but  I  mean  to  give  it  up." 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?  "  asked  Laj'ton,  not  soi-ry  to  let  the 
conversation  turn  away  from  himself  and  his  own  affairs. 

"  My  plans  !  They  are  ours,  I  hope,"  said  Quackinboss. 
"Y'ou're  a-coming  out  with  me  to  the  States,  sir.  We 
fixed  it  all  t'  other  night,  I  reckon  !  I  'm  a-goin'  to  make  your 
fortune ;  or,  better  still,  to  show  you  how  to  make  it  for 
yourself." 

Layton  walked  on  in  moody  silence,  while  Quackinboss, 
with  all  the  zealous  warmth  of  conviction,  described  the 
triumphs  and  success  he  was  to  achieve  in  the  New  World. 

A  very  few  words  will  suffice  to  inform  our  reader  of  all 
that  he  need  know  on  this  subject.  During  Layton's  long 
convalescence  poor  Quackinboss  felt  his  companionable 
qualities  sorely  taxed.     At  first,  indeed,  his  task  w^as  that  of 


A  DAY   IN  EARLY   SPRING.  233 

cousoler,  for  he  had  to  communicate  the  death  of  Alfred's 
mother,  which  occurred  in  the  early  days  of  her  son's  illness. 
The  Rector's  letter,  in  conveying  the  sad  tidings,  was  every- 
thing that  kindness  and  delicacy  could  dictate,  and,  with 
scarcely  a  reference  to  his  own  share  in  the  benevolence, 
showed  that  aU  care  and  attention  had  waited  upon  her  last 
hours.  The  blow,  however,  was  almost  fatal  to  Layton ;  and 
the  thought  of  that  forlorn,  deserted  death-bed  clung  to  him 
by  day,  and  filled  his  dreams  by  night. 

Quackinboss  did  his  utmost,  not  very  skilfully  nor  very 
adroitly,  perhaps,  but  with  a  hearty  sincerity,  to  combat  this 
depression.  He  ti'ied  to  picture  a  future  of  activity  and 
exertion,  —  a  life  of  sterling  labor.  He  placed  before  his 
companion's  eyes  the  objects  and  ambitions  men  usually 
deem  the  worthiest,  and  endeavored  to  give  them  an 
interest  to  him.  Met  in  all  his  attempts  by  a  dreary,  hope- 
less indifference,  the  kind-hearted  fellow  reflected  long  and 
deeply  over  his  next  resource  ;  and  so  one  da}',  when  Layton's 
recovered  strength  suggested  a  hope  for  the  project,  he  gave 
an  account  of  his  own  neglected  youth,  how,  thrown  when  a 
mere  boy  upon  the  world,  he  had  never  been  able  to  acquire 
more  than  a  smattering  of  what  others  learn  at  school.  "  I 
had  three  books  in  the  world,  sir,  —  a  Bible,  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  an  old  volume  of  "Wheatson's  Algebra.  And  from  a- 
readin'  and  readiu'  of  'em  over  and  over,  I  grew  to  blend  'em 
all  up  in  my  head  together.  And  there  was  Friday,  just  as 
much  a  reality  to  me  as  Father  Abraham  ;  and  I  thought 
men  kept  all  their  trade  reckoning  by  simple  equations.  I 
felt,  in  fact,  as  if  there  was  no  more  than  these  three  books 
in  all  creation,  and  out  of  them  a  man  had  to  pick  all  the 
wisdom  he  could.  Now,  what  I  'm  a-thinkin'  is  that  though 
I  'm  too  old  to  go  to  school,  maybe  as  how  you  'd  not  refuse  to 
give  me  a  helpin'  hand,  by  readin'  occasionally  out  of  those 
languages  I  only  know  by  name  ?  Teachin'  an  old  fellow  like 
me  is  well-nigh  out  of  the  question ;  but  when  a  man  has  got 
a  long,  hard-earned  experience  of  human  natur',  it 's  a  main 
pleasant  thing  to  know  that  oftentimes  the  thoughts  that  he 
is  struggling  with  have  occurred  to  great  minds  who  know  how 
to  utter  them ;  and  so  many  an  impression  comes  to  be  cor- 
rected, or  mayhap  confirmed,  by  those  clever  fellows.  Avith 
their  thoughtful  heads." 


234  ONE   OF  THEM. 

There  was  one  feature  in  the  project  which  could  not  but 
gratify  Laytou  ;  it  enabled  him  to  show  his  gratitude  for  the 
brotherly  affection  he  had  met  with,  and  he  accepted  the  sug- 
gestion at  once.  The  first  gleam  of  animation  that  had 
lighted  his  eyes  for  many  a  day  was  when  planning  out  the 
line  of  reading  he  intended  them  to  follow.  Taking  less  eras 
of  history  than  some  of  the  great  men  who  had  illustrated 
them,  he  thought  how  such  characters  would  be  sure  to  inter- 
est one  whose  views  of  life  were  eminently  practical,  and  so 
a  great  law-giver,  a  legislator,  a  great  general,  or  orator,  was 
each  evening  selected  for  their  reading.  If  it  were  not  out 
of  our  track,  we  might  tell  here  how  much  Layton  was  amused 
by  the  strange,  shrewd  commentaries  of  his  companion  on 
the  characters  of  a  classic  age ;  or  how  he  enjoyed  the  curious 
resemblances  Quackinboss  would  discover  between  the  celeb- 
rities of  Athens  and  Rome  and  the  great  men  of  his  own 
country.  And  many  a  time  was  the  reader  interrupted  by 
such  exclamations  as,  "Ay,  sir,  just  what  J.  Q.  Adams 
would  have  said  !  "  or,  "  That 's  the  way  our  John  Randolph 
would  have  fixed  it !  " 

But  Quackinboss  was  not  satisfied  with  the  pleasure  thus 
afforded  to  himself,  for,  with  native  instinct,  he  began  to 
think  how  all  such  stories  of  knowledge  and  amusement 
might  be  utilized  for  the  benefit  of  the  possessor. 

"You  must  come  to  the  States,  Layton,"  he  would  say. 
"You  must  let  our  people  hear  these  things.  They're  a 
main  sharp,  wide-awake  folk,  but  they  ain't  posted  up 
about  Greeks  and  Romans.  Just  mind  me,  now,  and 
you'll  do  a  fine  stroke  of  work,  sir.  Give  them  one  of 
these  pleasant  stories  out  of  that  fellow  there,  Herod- 
Herod —  what  d'ye  call  him?" 

"  Herodotus?" 

"  Ay,  that's  he ;  and  then  a  slice  out  of  one  of  those  slap- 
ping speeches  you  read  to  me  t'  other  night.  I  'm  blessed  if 
the  fellow  did  n't  lay  it  on  like  Point  Dexter  himself ;  and 
wind  up  all  with  what  we  can't  match,  a  comic  scene  from 
Aristophanes.  You  see  I  have  his  name  all  correct.  I 
ain't  christened  Shaver  if  you  don't  fill  your  hat  with  Yan- 
kee dollars  in  every  second  town  of  the  Union." 

Layton  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh  at  what  seemed  to 


A  DAY  IN  EARLY   SPRING.  235 

him  a  project  so  absurd  and  impossible ;  but  Quackiuboss, 
with  increased  gravity,  continued,  — 

"  Your  British  pride,  mayhap,  is  offended  by  the  thought 
of  lecturin'  to  us  Western  folk  ;  but  I  am  here  to  tell  you,  sir, 
that  our  own  first  men  —  ay,  and  you '11  not  disparage  tlurii 
—  are  a-doin'  it  every  day.  It 's  not  play-actin"  I  'm  speaking 
of.  They  don't  go  before  a  crowded  theatre  to  play  mimic 
with  face  or  look  or  voice  or  gesture.  They  've  got  a  some- 
thing to  tell  folk  that 's  either  ennobling  or  instructive. 
They  've  got  a  story  of  some  man,  who,  without  one  jot 
more  of  natural  advantages  than  any  of  those  listening 
there,  made  himself  a  name  to  be  blessed  and  remembered 
for  ages.  They  've  to  show  what  a  thing  a  strong  will  is 
when  united  with  an  honest  heart;  and  how  no  man,  no 
matter  how  humble  he  be,  need  despair  of  being  useful  to 
his  fellows.  They  've  got  many  a  lesson  out  of  history  to 
give  a  people  who  are  just  as  ambitious,  just  as  encroaching, 
and  twice  as  warlike  as  the  Athenians,  about  not  neglecting 
private  morality  in  the  search  after  national  greatness.  What 
is  the  lecturer  but  the  pioneer  to  the  preacher?  In  clearing 
away  ignorance  and  superstition,  ain't  he  making  way  for  the 
army  of  truth  that's  coming  up?  Now  I  tell  you,  sir,  that 
ain't  a  thing  to  be  ashamed  of !  " 

Layton  was  silent ;  not  convinced,  it  is  true,  but  restrained, 
from  respect  for  the  other's  ardor,  from  venturing  on  a  reply 
too  lightly.     Quackinboss,  after  a  brief  pause,  went  on  :  — 

"  Well,  it  is  possible  what  I  said  about  the  profit  riled  you. 
Well,  then,  don't  take  the  dollars ;  or  take  them,  and  give 
them,  as  some  of  our  Western  men  do,  to  some  object  of 
public  good,  — if  you're  rich  enough." 

"  Rich  enough  !  I'm  a  beggar,"  broke  in  Layton,  bitterly, 
"  I  'm  at  this  instant  indebted  to  you  for  more  than,  perhaps, 
years  of  labor  may  enable  me  to  repa}'." 

"I  put  it  all  down  in  a  book,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss, 
sternly,  "and  I  threw  it  in  the  fire  the  first  night  j-ou  read 
out  Homer  to  me.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Y'ou  are  well  paid. 
Shaver,  old  fellow.  You  never  knew  how  your  heart  could 
be  shaken  that  way,  and  what  brave  feelings  were  lying 
there  still,  inside  of  it.'" 

"Nay,  dear  friend,  it  is  not  thus  I'm  to  acquit  my  debt. 
Even  the  moneyed  one  —  " 


236  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"I  tell  you  what,  Layton,"  said  Quackinboss,  rising,  and 
striking  the  table  with  his  clenched  fist,  "there  's  only  one 
earthly  way  to  part  us,  and  that  is  by  speaking  to  me  of 
this.  Once,  and  forever,  I  say  to  you,  there  's  more  benefit 
to  a  man  like  me  to  be  your  companion  for  a  week,  than 
for  7/ou  to  have  toiled,  and  fevered,  and  sweated  after  gold, 
as  I  have  done  for  thirty  hard  years." 

"Give  me  a  day  or  two  to  think  over  it,"  said  Lay  ton, 
"and  I  '11  tell  you  my  resolve." 

"With  all  my  heart!  Only,  I  would  ask  you  not  to  take 
my  showing  of  its  goodness,  but  to  reason  the  thing  well 
out  of  your  own  clear  head.  Many  a  just  cause  is  lost  by  a 
bad  lawyer;  remember  that."  And  thus  the  discussion 
ended  for  the  time. 

The  following  morning,  when  they  met  at  breakfast.  Lay- 
ton  took  the  other's  hand,  and  said,  — 

"I  've  thought  all  night  of  what  you  've  said,  and  I  accept, 

—  not  without  many  a  misgiving  as  regards  myself,  but  I 
accept." 

"I'd  not  take  ten  thousand  dollars  for  the  engagement, 
sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  as  he  wrung  Layton's  hand.  "No, 
sir,  I  'd  not  take  it,  for  even  four  cities  of  the  Union." 

Although  thus  the  pi'oject  was  ratified  between  them, 
scarcely  a  day  passed  that  Layton  did  not  experience  some 
compunction  for  his  pledge.  Now,  it  was  a  repugnance  to 
the  sort  of  enterprise  he  was  about  to  engage  in,  the  criti- 
cisms to  which  he  was  to  expose  himself,  and  the  publicity 
he  was  to  confront;  nor  could  all  his  companion's  sanguine 
assurances  of  success  compensate  him  for  his  own  heartfelt 
repugnance  to  try  the  ordeal. 

"After  all,"  thought  he,  "failure,  with  all  its  pangs  of 
wounded  self-love,  will  only  serve  to  show  Quackinboss  how 
deeply  I  feel  myself  his  debtor  when  I  am  content  to  risk  so 
much  to  repay  him." 

Such  was  the  bond  he  had  signed,  such  his  struggles  to 
fulfil  its  obligations.     One  only  condition  he  stipulated  for, 

—  he  wished  to  go  to  Ireland  before  setting  out  for  the 
States,  to  see  the  last  resting-place  of  his  poor  mother  ere 
he  quitted  his  country,  perhaps  forever.  Dr.  Millar,  too, 
had  mentioned  that  a  number  of  letters  were  amongst  the 


A  DAY  IN  EARLY  SPRING.  237 

few  relics  she  had  left,  and  he  desired,  for  many  reasons, 
that  these  should  not  fall  into  strangers'  hands.  As  for 
Quaekinboss,  be  agreed  to  everything.  Indeed,  be  thought 
that  as  there  was  no  use  in  reaching  the  States  before  "the 
fall,"  they  could  not  do  better  than  ramble  about  Ireland, 
while  making  some  sort  of  preparation  for  the  coming 
campaign. 

"How  sad  this  place  makes  me!"  said  Layton,  as  they 
strolled  along  one  of  the  leaf-strewu  alleys.  "I  wish  I  had 
not  come  here." 

"That's  just  what  I  was  a-thinkin'  myself,"  said  the 
other.  "I  remember  coming  back  all  alone  once  over  the 
Michigan  prairie,  which  I  had  travelled  about  eight  months 
before  with  a  set  of  hearty  companions,  and  whenever  I  'd 
come  up  to  one  of  the  spots  where  our  tent  used  to  be  pitched, 
and  could  mark  the  place  by  the  circle  of  greener  grass,  with 
a  burned-up  patch  where  the  fire  stood,  it  was  all  I  could  do 
not  to  burst  out  a-cryin'  like  a  child!  It's  a  main  cruel 
thing  to  go  back  alone  to  where  you  've  once  been  happy  in, 
and  there  's  no  forgettin'  the  misery  of  it  ever  after." 

"That's  true,"  said  Layton;  "the  pleasant  memories  are 
erased  forever.     Let  us  go." 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 

It  is  amongst  the  prerogatives  of  an  author  to  inform  his 
reader  of  many  things  which  go  on  "behind  the  scenes  "  of 
life.  Let  me,  therefore,  ask  your  company,  for  a  brief 
space,  in  a  small  and  not  ill-furnished  chamber,  which, 
deep  in  the  recesses  of  back  scenes,  dressing-rooms,  scaffold- 
ing, and  machinery,  is  significantly  entitled,  by  a  painted 
inscription,  "Manager's  Room."  Though  the  theatre  is  a 
London  one,  the  house  is  small.  It  is  one  of  those  West- 
End  speculations  which  are  occasionally  graced  by  a  com- 
pany of  French  comedians,  a  monologist,  or  a  conjurer. 
There  is  all  the  usual  splendor  before  the  curtain,  and  all 
the  customary  squalor  behind.  At  the  present  moment  — 
for  it  is  growing  duskish  of  a  November  day,  and  rehearsal 
is  just  over  —  the  general  aspect  of  the  place  is  dreary 
enough.  The  box  fronts  and  the  lustre  are  cased  in  brown 
hollaud,  and,  though  the  curtain  is  up,  the  stage  presents 
nothing  but  a  chaotic  mass  of  disjointed  scenery  and  prop- 
erties. Tables,  chairs,  musical  instruments,  the  half  of  a 
boat,  a  throne,  and  a  guillotine  lie  littered  about,  amidst 
which  a  ragged  supernumerary  wanders,  broom  in  hand, 
but  apparently  hopeless  of  where  or  how  to  begin  to  reduce 
the  confusion  to  order. 

The  manager's  room  is  somewhat  more  habitable,  for 
there  is  a  good  carpet,  warm  curtains,  and  an  excellent  fire, 
at  which  two  gentlemen  are  seated,  whose  jocund  tones  and 
pleasant  faces  are  certainly,  so  far  as  outward  signs  go,  fair 
guarantees  that  the  world  is  not  dealing  very  hardly  with 
them,  nor  they  themselves  much  disgusted  with  the  same 
world.  One  of  these  —  the  elder,  a  middle-aged  man  some- 
what inclined  to  corpulency,  with  a  florid  cheek,  and  clear. 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES.  2o9 

dark  eye  —  is  the  celebrated  Mr.  Hyman  Stocmar;  cele- 
brated, I  say,  for  who  can  take  up  the  morning  papers  with- 
out reading  his  name  and  knowing  his  whereabouts;  as 
thus:  "We  are  happy  to  be  able  to  inform  our  readers 
that  Mr.  Stocmar  is  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  after  season 
at  the  '  Regent's.'  Whatever  other  managers  may  say,  Mr. 
Stocmar  can  make  no  complaint  of  courtly  indifference. 
Her  Majesty  has  four  times  within  the  last  month  graced  his 
theatre  with  her  presence.  Mr.  Stocmar  is  at  Madrid,  at 
Vienna,  at  Naples.  Mr.  Stocmar  is  in  treaty  with  Signor 
Urlaccio  of  Turin,  or  Mademoiselle  Voltarina  of  Venice. 
He  has  engaged  the  Lapland  voyagers,  sledge-dogs  and  all, 
the  Choctaw  chiefs,  or  the  Californian  lecturer,  Boreham, 
for  the  coming  winter.  Let  none  complain  of  London  in 
November  so  long  as  Mr.  Hyman  Stocmar  caters  for  the 
public  taste;"  and  so  on.  To  look  at  Stocmar's  bright 
complexion,  his  ruddy  glow,  his  well-filled  waistcoat,  and 
his  glossy  ringlets,  —  for,  though  verging  on  forty,  he  has 
them  still  "curly,"  —  you'd  scarcely  imagine  it  possible 
that  his  life  was  passed  amongst  more  toil,  confusion,  diffi- 
culty, and  distraction  than  would  suffice  to  kill  five  out  of 
any  twenty,  and  render  the  other  fifteen  deranged.  I  do 
not  mean  alone  the  worries  inseparable  from  a  theatrical 
direction,  —  the  fights,  the  squabbles,  the  insufferable  pre- 
tensions he  must  bear,  the  rivalries  he  must  reconcile,  the 
hates  he  must  conciliate ;  the  terrible  existence  of  coax  and 
bully,  bully  and  coax,  fawn,  flatter,  trample  on,  and  out- 
rage, which  goes  on  night  and  day  behind  the  curtain,  — 
but  that  his  whole  life  in  the  world  is  exactly  a  mild  coun- 
terpart of  the  same  terrible  performance ;  the  great  people, 
his  patrons,  being  fifty  times  more  difficult  to  deal  with  than 
the  whole  corps  itself,  —  the  dictating  dowagers  and  exact- 
ing lords,  the  great  man  who  insists  upon  Mademoiselle 
So-and-so  being  engaged,  the  great  lady  who  will  have  no 
other  box  than  that  occupied  by  the  Russian  embassy,  the 
friends  of  this  tenor  and  the  partisans  of  that,  the  classic 
admirers  of  grand  music,  and  that  larger  section  who  will 
have  nothing  but  comic  opera,  not  to  mention  the  very 
extreme  parties  who  only  care  for  the  ballet,  and  those  who 
vote  the  "Traviata"  an  unclean  thing.     What  are  a  lover's 


240  ONE   OF  THEM. 

perjuries  to  the  lies  such  a  man  tells  all  day  long  ?  —  lies 
only  to  be  reckoned  by  that  machine  that  records  the  revolu- 
tions of  a  screw  in  a  steamer.  His  whole  existence  is 
passed  in  promises,  excuses,  evasions,  and  explanations; 
always  paying  a  small  dividend  to  truth,  he  barely  escapes 
utter  bankruptcy,  and  by  a  plausibility  most  difficult  to 
distrust,  he  obtains  a  kind  of  half-credit,  —  that  of  one  who 
would  keep  his  word  if  he  could. 

By  some  strange  law  of  compensation,  this  man,  who 
sees  a  very  dark  side  of  human  nature,  —  sees  it  in  its  low 
intrigues,   unworthy  pursuits,  falsehoods,  and  depravities, 

—  who  sees   even  the  "great"  in  their  moods  of  meanness, 

—  this  man,  I  say,  has  the  very  keenest  relish  for  life,  and 
especially  the  life  of  London.  He  knows  every  capital  of 
Europe:  Paris,  from  the  Chaussee  d'Antin  to  the  Boulevard 
Mont-Parnasse ;  Vienna,  from  the  Hof  to  the  Volksgarten ; 
Rome,  from  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  to  the  Ghetto ;  and  yet  he 
would  tell  you  they  are  nothing,  all  of  them,  to  that  area 
between  Pall  Mall  and  the  upper  gate  of  Hyde  Park.  He 
loves  his  clubs,  his  dinners,  his  junketings  to  Richmond  or 
Greenwich,  his  short  Sunday  excursions  to  the  country, 
generally  to  some  great  artiste's  villa  near  Fulham  or  Chis- 
wick,  and  declares  to  you  that  it  is  England  alone  offers  all 
these  in  perfection.  Is  it  any  explanation,  does  it  give 
any  clew  to  this  gentleman's  nature,  if  I  say  that  a  certain 
aquiline  character  in  his  nose,  and  a  peculiar  dull  lustre  in 
the  eye,  recall  that  race  who,  with  all  the  odds  of  a  great 
majority  against  them,  enjoy  a  marvellous  share  of  this 
world's  prosperity?     Opposite  to  him  sits  one  not  unworthy 

—  even  from  externals  —  of  his  companionship.  He  is  a 
very  good-looking  fellow,  with  light  brown  hair,  his  beard 
and  moustaches  being  matchless  in  tint  and  arrangement :  he 
has  got  large,  full  blue  eyes,  a  wide  capacious  forehead,  and 
that  style  of  head,  both  in  shape  and  the  way  in  which  it  is 
set  on,  which  indicate  a  frank,  open,  and  courageous  nature. 
Were  it  not  for  a  little  over-attention  to  dress,  there  is  no 
"  snobbery  "  about  him ;  but  there  is  a  little  too  much  velvet 
on  his  paletot,  and  his  watch  trinkets  are  somewhat  in  ex- 
cess, not  to  say  that  the  gold  head  of  his  cane  is  ostenta- 
tiously large  and  striking.     This  is  Captain  Ludlow  Paten, 


BEHIND  THE   SCENES.  241 

a  man  about  town,  known  to  and  by  everybod}",  very  much 
asked  about  in  men's  circles,  but  never  by  any  accident  met 
in  ladies'  society.  By  very  young  men  he  is  eagerly  sought 
after.  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  coming  of  age  has  in  its 
gift  is  to  know  Paten  and  be  able  to  ask  him  to  dine. 
Older  ones  relish  him  full  as  much;  but  his  great  popularity 
is  with  a  generation  beyond  that  again:  the  meditBvals,  who 
walk  massively  and  ride  not  at  all ;  the  florid,  full-cheeked, 
slightly  bald  generation,  who  grace  club  windows  of  a 
morning  and  the  coulisses  at  night.  These  ai'e  his  "set," 
par  excellence^  and  he  knows  them  thoroughly.  As  for 
himself  or  his  family,  no  one  knows,  nor,  indeed,  wants  to 
know  anything.  The  men  he  associates  with  chiefly  in  life 
are  all  "cognate  numbers,"  and  these  are  the  very  people 
who  never  trouble  their  heads  about  a  chance  intruder 
amongst  them ;  and  although  some  rumor  ran  that  his  father 
was  a  porter  at  the  Home  Office,  or  a  tailor  at  Black- 
wall,  none  care  a  jot  on  the  matter:  they  want  him;  and  he 
could  n't  be  a  whit  more  useful  if  his  veins  ran  with  all  the 
blood  of  all  the  Howards. 

There  is  a  story  of  him,  however,  which,  though  I  reveal 
to  you,  is  not  generally  known.  He  was  once  tried  for  a 
murder.  It  was  a  case  of  poisoning  in  Jersey,  where  the 
victim  was  a  well-known  man  of  the  Turf,  and  who  was 
murdered  by  the  party  he  had  invited  to  spend  a  Christmas 
with  him.  Paten  was  one  of  the  company,  and  included 
in  the  accusation.  Two  were  hanged;  Paten  and  another, 
named  Collier,  acquitted.  Paten's  name  was  Hunt,  but  he 
changed  it  at  once,  and,  going  abroad,  entered  the  Austrian 
service,  where,  in  eight  years,  he  became  a  lieutenant.  This 
was  enough  for  probation  and  rank,  and  so  he  returned  to 
England  as  Captain  Ludlow  Paten.  Stocmar,  of  course, 
knew  the  story:  there  were  half  a  dozen  more,  also,  who 
did,  but  they  each  and  all  knew  that  poor  Paul  was  innocent; 
that  there  was  n't  a  fragment  of  evidence  against  him;  that 
he  lost  —  actually  lost — by  Hawke's  death;  that  he  was 
carried  tipsy  to  bed  that  night  two  hours  before  the  murder; 
that  lie  was  so  overcome  the  next  morning  by  his  debauch 
that  he  was  with  difficulty  awakened;  that  the  coroner 
thought  him  a  downright  fool,  he  was  so  stunned  by  the 
16 


242  ONE   OF  THEM. 

event;  in  a  word,  though  he  changed  his  name  to  Paten,  and 
now  wore  a  tremendous  beard,  and  affected  a  slightly  foreign 
accent,  these  were  disguises  offered  up  to  the  mean  preju- 
dices of  the  world  rather  than  precautions  of  common  safety 
and  security. 

Though  thus  Paten's  friends  had  passed  this  bill  of 
indemnity  in  his  favor,  the  affair  of  Jersey  was  never 
alluded  to,  by  even  his  most  intimate  amongst  them.  It 
was  a  page  of  history  to  be  carefully  watered  up  till  that 
reckoning  when  all  volumes  are  ransacked,  and  no  blottings 
nor  erasures  avail!  As  for  himself,  who,  to  look  at  him, 
with  his  bright  countenance,  to  hear  the  jocund  ring  of  his 
merry  laugh  —  who  could  ever  imagine  such  a  figure  in  a 
terrible  scene  of  tragedy?  What  could  such  a  man  have 
to  do  with  any  of  the  dark  machinations  of  crime,  the  death- 
struggle,  the  sack,  the  silent  party  that  stole  across  the 
grass  at  midnight,  and  the  fish-pond?  Oh,  no  !  rather  pic- 
ture him  as  one  who,  meeting  such  details  in  his  daily 
paper,  would  hastily  turn  the  sheet  to  seek  for  pleasanter 
matter ;  and  so  it  was  he  eschewed  these  themes  in  conver- 
sation, and  even  when  some  celebrated  trial  would  for  the 
moment  absorb  all  interest,  giving  but  one  topic  in  almost 
every  circle,  Paten  would  drop  such  commonplaces  on  the 
subject  as  showed  he  cared  little  or  nothing  for  the  event. 

Let  us  now  hear  what  these  two  men  are  talking  about,  as 
they  sat  thus  confidentially  over  the  fire.  Stocmar  is  the 
chief  speaker.  He  does  not  smoke  of  a  morning,  because 
many  of  his  grand  acquaintances  are  averse  to  tobacco;  as 
for  Paten,  the  cigar  never  leaves  his  lips. 

"Well,  now  for  his  story!  "  cried  Paten.  "I  'm  anxious 
to  hear  about  him." 

"I  'm  sorry  I  can't  gratify  the  curiosity.  All  I  can  tell 
you  is  where  I  found  him.  It  was  in  Dublin.  They  had  a 
sort  of  humble  Cremorne  there,  —  a  place  little  resorted  to 
by  the  better  classes ;  indeed,  rarely  visited  save  by  young 
subs  from  the  garrison,  milliners,  and  such  other  lost  sheep ; 
not  very  wonderful,  after  all,  seeing  that  the  rain  usually 
contrived  to  extinguish  the  fireworks.  Having  a  spare 
evening  on  my  hands,  I  went  there,  and,  to  my  astonish- 
ment, witnessed  some  of  the  most  extraordinary  displays 


BEHIND  THE   SCENES.  243 

in  fireworks  I  had  ever  seen.  Whether  for  beauty  of 
design,  color,  and  precision,  I  might  declare  them  un- 
equalled. 'Who's  your  pyrotechnist?'  said  I  to  Barry, 
the  proprietor. 

"  *  I  can't  spare  him,  Mr.  Stocmar,'  said  he,  '  so  I  entreat 
you  don't  carry  him  off  from  me.' 

"  '  Oh!  '  cried  I,  '  it  was  mere  curiosity  prompted  the 
question.  The  man  is  well  enough  here,  but  he  would  n't 
do  for  us.     We  have  got  Giomelli,  and  Clari —  ' 

"  '  Not  fit  to  light  a  squib  for  him,'  said  he,  warming  up 
in  his  enthusiasm  for  his  man.  '  I  tell  you,  sir,  that  fellow 
would  teach  Giomelli,  and  every  Italian  of  them  all.  He  's 
a  great  man,  sir,  —  a  genius.  He  was,  once  on  a  time,  the 
great  Professor  of  a  University ;  one  of  the  very  first  scien- 
tific men  of  the  kingdom,  and  if  it  was  n't  for' — here  he 
made  a  sign  of  drinking  — '  he  'd  perhaps  be  this  day  sought 
by  the  best  in  the  land.' 

"Though  interested  by  all  this,  I  only  gave  a  sort  of  in- 
credulous laugh  in  return,  when  he  went  on :  — 

"  '  If  I  was  quite  sure  you  'd  not  take  him  away  —  if 
you  'd  give  me  your  word  of  honor  for  it  —  I  'd  just  show 
him  to  you,  and  you  'd  see  —  even  tipsy  as  he  's  sure  to  be  — 
if  I'm  exaggerating.' 

"  '  What  is  he  worth  to  you,  Barry? '  said  I. 

" 'He 's  worth  —  not  to  reckon  private  engagements  for 
fireworks  in  gentlemen's  grounds,  and  the  like, —  he  's  worth 
from  seven  to  eight  pounds  a  week.' 

"  '  And  you  give  him  — ' 

"  '  Well,  I  don't  give  him  much.  It  would  n't  do  to  give 
him  much ;  he  has  no  self-control,  —  no  restraint.  He  'd 
kill  himself,  — actually  kill  himself.' 

" '  So  that  you  only  give  him  —  ' 

"  '  Fourteen  shillings  a  week.  Not  but  that  I  am  making 
a  little  fund  for  him,  and  occasionally  remitted  his  wife  — 
he  had  a  wife  —  a  pound  or  so,  without  his  knowledge.' 

"  '  AVell,  he  's  not  too  dear  at  that,'  said  I.  '  Now  let  me 
see  and  speak  with  him,  Barry,  and  if  I  like  him,  you  shall 
have  a  fifty-pound  note  for  him.  You  know  well  enough 
that  I  needn't  pay  a  sixpence.  I  have  fellows  in  my 
employment  would  track  him  out  if  you  were  to  hide  him  in 


244  ONE  OF  THEM. 

one  of  his  rocket-canisters ;  so  just  be  reasonable,  and  take 
a  good  offer. ' 

"He  was  not  very  willing  at  first,  but  he  yielded  after  a 
while,  and  so  I  became  the  owner  of  the  Professor,  for  such 
they  called  him." 

"Had  he  no  other  name?" 

"Yes;  an  old  parrot,  that  he  had  as  a  pet,  called  him 
Tom,  and  so  we  accepted  that  name ;  and  as  Tom,  or  Pro- 
fessor Tom,  he  is  now  known  amongst  us." 

"Did  you  find,  after  all,  that  you  made  a  good  bargain?" 

"I  never  concluded  a  better,  though  it  has  its  difficulties; 
for,  as  the  Professor  is  almost  an  idiot  when  perfectly 
sober,  and  totally  insensible  when  downright  drunk,  there 
is  just  a  short  twilight  interval  between  the  two,  when  his 
faculties  are  in  good  order." 

"What  can  he  do  at  this  favorable  juncture?  " 

"What  can  he  not?  is  the  question.  Why,  it  was  he 
arranged  all  the  scores  for  the  orchestra  after  the  fire,  when 
we  had  not  a  scrap  left  of  the  music  of  the  '  Maid  of  Cash- 
mere.' It  was  he  invented  that  sunrise,  in  the  last  scene  of 
all,  with  the  clouds  rolling  down  the  mountains,  and  all  the 
rivulets  glittering  as  the  first  rays  touch  them.  It  was  he 
wrote  the  third  act  of  Linton's  new  comedy;  the  catas- 
trophe and  all  were  his.  It  was  he  dashed  off  that  splendid 
critique  on  Ristori,  that  set  the  town  in  a  blaze;  and  then 
he  went  home  and  wrote  the  parody  on  '  Myrra  '  for  the 
Strand,  all  the  same  night,  for  I  had  watered  the  brandy, 
and  kept  him  in  the  second  stage  of  delirium  till  morning." 

"What  a  chance!  By  Jove!  Stocmaz-,  you  are  the  only 
fellow  ever  picks  up  a  gem  of  this  water! " 

"It's  not  every  man  can  tell  the  stone  that  will  pay  for 
the  cutting,  Paten,  remember  that.  I  've  had  to  buy  this 
experience  of  mine  dearly  enough." 

"Are  you  not  afraid  that  the  others  will  hear  of  him,  and 
seduce  him  by  some  tempting  offer?" 

"I  have,  in  a  measure,  provided  against  that  contin- 
gency. He  lives  here,  in  a  small  crib,  where  we  once  kept 
a  brown  bear;  and  he  never  ventures  abroad,  so  that  the 
chances  are  he  will  not  be  discovered." 

"How  I  should  like  to  have  a  look  at  him! " 


BEHIND  THE   SCENES.  245 

"Nothing  easier.  Let  us  see,  what  o'clock  is  it?  Near 
five.  Well,  this  is  not  an  unfavorable  moment;  he  has  just 
fiuished  his  dinner,  and  not  yet  begun  the  evening."  Ring- 
ing the  bell,  as  he  spoke,  he  gave  orders  to  a  supernumerary 
to  send  the  Professor  to  him. 

While  they  waited  for  his  coming,  Stocmar  continued  to 
give  some  further  account  of  his  life  and  habits,  the  total 
estrangement  from  all  companionship  in  -whieh  he  lived,  his 
dislike  to  be  addressed,  and  the  seeming  misanthropy  that 
animated  him.  At  last  the  manager,  getting  impatient, 
rang  once  more,  to  ask  if  he  were  about  to  appear. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  man,  with  a  sort  of  unwillingness  in 
his  manner,  "he  said  as  much  as  that  he  was  n't  coming; 
that  he  had  just  dined,  and  meant  to  enjoy  himself  without 
business  for  a  while." 

"Go  back  and  tell  him  that  Mr.  Stocmar  has  something 
very  important  to  tell  him ;  that  five  minutes  will  be  enough. 
—  You  see  the  stuff  he's  made  of?"  said  the  manager,  as 
the  man  left  the  room. 

Another,  and  nearly  as  long  a  delay  ensued,  and  at  last 
the  dragging  sound  of  heavy  slipshod  feet  was  heard 
approaching;  the  door  was  rudely  opened,  and  a  tall  old 
man,  of  haggard  appearance  and  in  the  meanest  rags,  en- 
tered, and,  drawing  himself  proudly  up,  stared  steadfastly 
at  Stocmar,  without  even  for  an  instant  noticing  the  pres- 
ence of  the  other. 

"I  wanted  a  word,  — just  one  word  with  you,  Professor," 
began  the  manager,  in  an  easy,  familiar  tone. 

"Men  do  not  whistle  even  for  a  dog,  when  he  's  at  his 
meals,"  said  the  old  man,  insolently.  "They  told  you  I 
was  at  my  dinner,  did  n't  they?  " 

"Sorry  to  disturb  you,  Tom;  but  as  two  minutes  would 
suffice  for  all  I  had  to  say  —  " 

"Reason  the  more  to  keep  it  for  another  occasion,"  was 
the  stubborn  reply. 

"We  are  too  late  this  time,"  whispered  Stocmar  across 
towards  Paten ;  "  the  fellow  has  been  at  the  whiskey-bottle 
already." 

With  that  marvellous  acuteness  of  hearing  that  a  brain 
in  its  initial  state  of  excitement  is  occasionally  gifted  with. 


246  ONE  OF  THEM. 

the  old  man  caught  the  words,  aud,  as  suddenly  rendered 
aware  of  the  presence  of  a  third  party,  turned  his  eyes  on 
Paten.  At  first  the  look  was  a  mere  stare,  but  gradually 
the  expression  grew  more  fixed,  and  the  bleared  eyes  dilated, 
while  his  whole  features  became  intensely  eager.  With  a 
shuffling  but  hurried  step  he  then  moved  across  the  floor, 
and,  coming  close  up  to  where  Paten  stood,  he  laid  his 
hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  wheeled  him  rudely  round, 
till  the  light  of  the  window  fell  full  upon  him. 

"Well,  old  gent,"  said  Paten,  laughing,  "if  we  are  not 
old  friends,  you  treat  me  very  much  as  though  we  were." 

A  strange  convulsion,  half  smile,  half  grin,  passed  over 
the  old  man's  face,  but  he  never  uttered  a  word,  but  stood 
gazing  steadily  on  the  other. 

"You'  are  forgetting  yourself,  Tom,"  said  Stocmar, 
angrily.  "That  gentleman  is  not  an  acquaintance  of 
yours." 

"And  who  told  yon  that?"  said  the  old  man,  insolently. 
"Ask  himself  if  we  are  not." 

"I'm  afraid  I  must  give  it  against  you,  old  boy,"  said 
Paten,  good-humoredly.  "This  is  the  first  time  I  have 
had  the  honor  to  meet  you." 

"It  is  not!  "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  solemn  and  even 
haughty  emphasis. 

"I  could  scarcely  have  forgotten  a  man  of  such  impres- 
sive manners,"  said  Paten.  "Will  you  kindly  remind  me 
of  the  where  and  how  you  imagine  us  to  have  met?  " 

"I  will,"  said  the  other,  sternly.  "You  shall  hear  the 
where  and  the  how.  The  where  was  in  the  High  Court,  at 
Jersey,  on  the  18th  of  January,  in  the  year  18 — ;  the  how, 
was  my  being  called  on  to  prove  the  death,  by  corrosive 
sublimate,  of  Godfrey  Hawke.  Now,  sir,  what  say  you  to 
my  memory,  —  is  it  accurate,  or  not?  " 

Had  not  Paten  caught  hold  of  a  heavy  chair,  he  would 
have  fallen ;  even  as  it  was,  he  swayed  forward  and  back- 
ward like  a  drunken  man. 

"And  you  —  you  wei-e  a  doctor  in  those  days,  it  seems," 
said  he,  with  an  affected  laugh,  that  made  his  ghastly  fea- 
tures appear  almost  horrible. 

"Yes;    they   accused   me  of   curing  folk,    just   as   they 


BEHIND   THE   SCENES. 


247 


Charged  you  with  killing  them.  Calumnious  world  that  it 
is,  —  lets  no  man  escape !  " 

"After  all,  my  worthy  friend,"  said  Paten,  as  he  drew 
himself  haughtily  up,  and  assumed,  though  by  a  great  effort, 
his  wonted  ease  of  manner,  "you  are  deceived  by  some 
chance  resemblance,  for  I  know  nothing  about  Jersey,  and 
just  as  little  of  that  interesting  little  incident  you  have 
alluded  to." 

"  This  is  even  more  than  you  attempted  on  the  trial.     You 


never  dreamed  of  so  bold  a  stroke  as  that,  there.  No,  no, 
Paul  Hunt,  I  know  you  well :  that 's  a  gift  of  mine,  —  drunk 
or  sober,  it  has  stuck  to  me  through  life,  —  I  never  forget  a 
face,  —  never  !  " 

"  Come,  come,  old  Tom,"  said  Stocmar,  as  he  drew  forth  a 
sherry  decanter  and  a  large  glass  from  a  small  recess  in  the 
wall,  "  this  is  not  the  kindliest  way  to  welcome  an  old  friend 
or  make  a  new  one.  Taste  this  sherry,  and  take  the  bottle 
back  with  yon,  if  you  like  the  flavor."  Stocmar's  keen 
glance  met  Paten's  eyes,  and  as  quickly  the  other  under- 
stood his  tactique. 

"  Good   wine,    rare   wine,  if   it   was  n't   so   cold   on    the 


248  ONE   OF  THEM. 

stomach,"  said  the  old  man,  as  he  tossed  off  the  second 
goblet.  Already  his  eyes  grew  wild  and  bloodshot,  and  his 
watery  lip  trembled.  "To  your  good  health,  gentlemen 
both,"  said  he,  as  he  finished  the  decanter.  "I'm  proud 
you  liked  that  last  scene.  It  will  be  finer  before  I  've  done 
with  it;  for  I  intend  to  make  the  lava  course  down  the 
mountain,  and  be  seen  fitfully  as  the  red  glow  of  the  erup- 
tion lights  up  the  picture." 

"With  the  bay  and  the  fleet  all  seen  in  the  distance, 
Tom,"  broke  in  Stocmar. 

"  Just  so,  sir;  the  lurid  glare  —  as  the  newspaper  fellows 
will  call  it  —  over  all.  Nothing  like  Bengal-lights  and 
Roman-candles ;  they  are  the  poetry  of  the  modern  drama. 
Ah !  sir,  no  sentiment  without  nitrate  of  potash ;  no  poetry  if 
you  have  n't  phosphorus."  And  with  a  drunken  laugh,  and 
a  leer  of  utter  vacancy,  the  old  man  reeled  from  the  room 
and  sought  his  den  again, 

"Good  Heavens,  Stocmar!  what  a  misfortune!"  cried 
Paten,  as,  sick  with  terror,  he  dropped  down  into  a  chair. 

"  Never  fret  about  it,  Paul.  That  fellow  will  know  noth- 
ing of  what  has  passed  when  he  wakes  to-morrow.  His 
next  drunken  bout  —  and  I  '11  take  care  it  shall  be  a  deep 
one  —  will  let  such  a  flood  of  Lethe  over  his  brain  that  not 
one  single  recollection  will  survive  the  deluge.  You  saw 
why  I  produced  the  decanter?" 

' '  Yes ;  it  was  cleverly  done,  and  it  worked  like  magic. 
But  only  think,  Stocmar,  if  any  one  had  chanced  to  be  here 
—  it  was  pure  chance  that  there  was  not  —  and  then  —  " 

"  Egad!  it  might  have  been  as  you  say,"  said  Stocmar; 
' '  there  would  have  been  no  stopping  the  old  fellow ;  and  had 
he  but  got  the  very  slightest  encouragement,  he  had  been  off 
at  score." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

A    DARK    REMEMBRANCE. 

On  a  sea  like  glass,  and  with  a  faint  moonliglit  streaking  the 
calm  water,  the  "  Vivid,"  her  Majesty's  mail-packet,  steamed 
away  for  Ostend.  There  were  very  few  passengers  aboard, 
so  that  it  was  clearly  from  choice  two  tall  men,  wrapped  well 
up  in  comfortable  travelling-cloaks,  continued  to  walk  the 
deck,  till  the  sandy  headlands  of  Belgium  could  be  dimly 
descried  through  the  pinkish  gray  of  the  morning.  They 
smoked  and  conversed  as  they  paced  up  and  down,  talking 
in  low,  cautious  tones,  and  even  entirely  ceasing  to  speak 
when  by  any  chance  a  passing  sailor  came  within  earshot. 

"  It  is,  almost  day  for  day,  nine  years  since  I  crossed 
over  here,"  said  one,  "  and  certainl}'  a  bleaker  future  never 
lay  before  any  man  than  on  that  morning !  " 

"Was  she  with  you,  Ludlow?"  asked  the  other,  whose 
deep  voice  recalled  the  great  Mr.  Stocmar.  "  Was  she  with 
you  ?  " 

"No;  she  refused  to  come.  There  was  nothing  I  did  n't 
do,  or  threaten  to  do,  but  in  vain.  I  menaced  her  with  every 
sort  of  publicity  and  exposure.  I  swore  I  'd  write  the  whole 
story,  — giving  a  likeness  of  her  from  the  miniature  in  my  pos- 
session ;  that  I  'd  give  her  letters  to  the  world  in  fac-simile 
of  her  own  hand  ;  and  that,  while  the  town  rang  with  the 
tragedy,  as  the  newspapers  called  it,  they  should  have  a  dash 
of  melodrama,  or  high  comedy  too,  to  heighten  the  interest. 
All  in  vain  ;  she  braved  ever^^thing — defied  everything." 

"There  are  women  with  that  sort  of  masculine  tempera- 
ment —  " 

"  Masculine  you  call  it !  "  cried  the  other,  scoffingly ; 
"you  never  made  such  a  blunder  in  your  life.  They  are 
entirely  and  essentially  womanly.     You  'd  break  twenty  men 


250  ONE   OF   THEM. 

down,  smash  them  like  rotten  twigs,  before  you  'd  succeed  in 
turning  one  woman  of  this  stamp  from  her  fixed  will.  I  '11 
tell  you  another  thing,  too,  Stocmar,"  added  he,  in  a  lower 
voice  :  "  they  do  not  fear  the  world  the  way  men  do.  Would 
you  believe  it?  Collins  and  myself  left  the  island  in  a 
fishing-boat,  and  she  —  the  woman  —  went  coolly  on  board 
the  mail-packet  with  her  maid  and  child,  and  sat  down  to 
breakfast  with  the  passengers,  one  of  whom  had  actually 
served  on  the  jury." 

"  What  pluck  !     I  call  that  pluck." 

*'  It 's  more  like  madness  than  real  courage,"  said  the 
other,  peevishly ;  and  for  some  minutes  they  walked  on 
side  by  side  without  a  word. 

"If  I  remember  rightly,"  said  Stocmar,  "she  was  not 
put  on  her  trial?" 

"No;  there  was  a  great  discussion  about  it,  and  many 
blamed  the  Crown  lawyers  for  not  including  her;  but,  in 
truth,  there  was  not  a  shadow  of  evidence  to  be  brought 
against  her.  His  treatment  of  her  might  have  suggested  the 
possibility  of  any  vengeance," 

"  Was  it  so  cruel?" 

"  Cruel  is  no  word  for  it.  There  was  not  an  insult  nor 
an  outrage  spared  her.  She  passed  one  night  in  the  deep 
snow  in  the  garden,  and  was  carried  senseless  into  the  house 
at  morning,  and  only  rallied  after  days  of  treatment.  He 
fired  at  her  another  time." 

"Shot  her!" 

"Yes,  shot  her  through  the  shoulder,  —  sent  the  bullet 
through  here,  —  because  she  would  not  write  to  Ogden  a 
begging  letter,  entreating  him  to  assist  her  with  a  couple  of 
hundred  pounds." 

"  Oh,  that  was  too  gross !  "  exclaimed  Stocmar. 

"He  told  her,  '  You 've  cost  me  fifteen  hundred  in  dam- 
ages, and  you  may  tell  Ogden  he  shall  have  you  back  again 
for  fifty.'" 

"  And  she  bore  all  this?  " 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  bearing  it.  She  did 
not  stab  him.  Some  say  that  Hawke  was  mad,  but  I  never 
thought  so.  He  had  boastful  fits  at  times,  in  which  he  would 
vaunt  all  his  villanies,  and  tell  you  of  the  infamies  he  had 


A  DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  251 

done  with  this  man  and  that;  but  they  were  purely  the 
emanations  of  an  intense  vanity,  which  left  him  unable  to 
conceal  anything.  Imagine,  for  instance,  his  boasting  how 
he  had  done  the  '  Globe '  office  out  of  ten  thousand,  insured 
on  his  first  wife's  life,  —  drowned  when  bathing.  I  heard 
the  story  from  his  own  lips,  and  I  '11  never  forget  his  laugh 
as  he  said,  '  I  'd  have  been  in  a  hole  if  Mary  had  n't.' " 

"  Tbat  was  madness,  depend  on  't." 

"  No  ;  I  think  not.  It  was  partly  vanity,  for  he  delighted 
above  all  things  to  create  an  effect,  and  partly  a  studied  plan 
to  exercise  an  influence  by  actual  terror,  in  which  he  had  a 
considerable  success.  I  could  tell  you  of  a  score  of  men 
who  would  not  have  dared  to  thwart  him ;  and  it  was  at  last 
downright  desperation  drove  Tom  Towers  and  Wake  to  "  — 
he  hesitated,  faltered,  and,  in  a  weak  voice,  added,  —  "to 
do  it !  " 

"How  was  it  brought  about?"  whispered  Stocmar,  cau- 
tiously. 

Paten  took  out  his  cigar-case,  selected  a  cigar  with  much 
care,  lighted  it,  and,  after  smoking  for  some  seconds, 
began:  "It  all  happened  this  way:  we  met  one  night  at 
that  singing-place  in  the  Haymarket.  Towers,  Wake,  Col- 
lins, and  myself  were  eating  an  oyster  supper,  when  Hawke 
came  in.  He  had  been  dining  at  the  '  Rag,'  and  had  won 
largely  at  whist  from  some  young  cavalry  swells,  who  had 
just  joined.  He  was  flushed  and  excited,  but  not  from 
drinking,  for  he  said  he  had  not  tasted  anything  but  claret- 
cup  at  dinner.  '  You  're  a  mangy-looking  lot,'  said  he, 
*  with  your  stewed  oysters  and  stout,'  as  he  came  up.  '  Why, 
frozen-out  gardeners  are  fine  gentlemen  in  comparison.  Are 
there  no  robberies  going  on  at  the  Ottoman,  —  nothing  doing 
down  at  Grirashaw's?' 

"  '  You  're  very  bumptious  about  belonging  to  the  "  Rag," 
Hawke,'  said  Towers  ;  '  but  they  '11  serve  you  the  same  trick 
they  did  me  one  of  these  days.' 

"'No,  sir,  they'll  never  turn  me  out,'  said  Hawke,  in- 
solently. 

"'More  fools  they,  then,'  said  the  other;  'for  j^ou  can 
do  ten  things  for  one  that  I  can  ;  and,  what 's  more,  you 
have  done  them.' 


252  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  '  And  will  again,  old  boy,  if  that's  any  comfort  to  you,' 
cried  Hawke,  finishing  off  the  others  malt.  '  Waiter,  fetch 
me  some  cold  oysters,  and  score  them  to  these  gentlemen,' 
said  he,  gayly,  taking  his  place  amongst  us.  And  so  we 
chaffed  away,  about  one  thing  or  another,  each  one  contrib- 
uting some  lucky  or  unlucky  hit  that  had  befallen  him  ;  but 
Hawke  always  bringing  up  how  he  had  succeeded  here,  and 
what  he  had  won  there,  and  only  vexed  if  an}'  one  reminded 
him  that  he  had  been  ever  '  let  in '  in  his  life. 

"'Look  here,'  cried  he,  at  last;  '  ye 're  an  uncommon 
seedy  lot,  very  much  out  at  elbows,  and  so  I  '11  do  you  a 
generous  turn.  I  '11  take  ye  all  over  to  my  cottage  at  Jersey 
for  a  week,  house  and  grub  you,  and  then  turn  you  loose  on 
the  island,  to  do  your  wicked  will  with  it.' 

"  '  We  take  your  offer  —  we  say.  Done  ! '  cried  Collins. 

"  '  I  should  think  you  do!  You  've  been  sleeping  under 
the  colonnade  of  the  Hay  market  these  last  three  nights,' 
said  he  to  Collins,  '  for  want  of  a  lodging.  There  's  Towers 
chuckling  over  the  thought  of  having  false  keys  to  all  my 
locks ;  and  Master  Paul,  yonder,'  said  he,  grinning  at  me, 
'  is  in  love  with  my  wife.  Don't  deny  it,  man  ;  I  broke  open 
her  writing-desk  t'  other  day,  and  read  all  your  letters  to 
her;  but  I 'm  a  generous  dog;  and,  what's  better,'  added 
he,  with  an  insolent  laugh,  '  one  as  bites,  too  —  eh,  Paul  ?  — 
don't  forget  that.' 

"  '  Do  you  mean  the  invitation  to  be  real  and  bond  fide  V 
growled  out  Towers  ;   '  for  I  'm  in  no  jesting  humor.' 

"  '  I  do,'  said  Hawke,  flourishing  out  a  handful  of  bank- 
notes ;  '  there 's  enough  here  to  feed  five  times  as  many 
blacklegs  ;  and  more  costly  guests  a  man  can't  have.' 

"'You'll  go,  won't  you?'  said  Collins,  to  me,  as  we 
walked  home  together  afterwards. 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  doubtingly,  '  I  don't  exactly  see  my  wa}'.' 

"  '  By  Jove  ! '  cried  he,  '  you  are  afraid  of  him.' 

"  '  Not  a  bit,'  said  I,  impatiently.  '  I  'm  well  acquainted 
with  his  boastful  habit :  he  's  not  so  dangerous  as  he  'd  have 
us  to  believe.' 

"  '  But  will  you  go?  —  that's  the  question,'  said  he,  more 
eagerly. 

"  '  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  know?'  asked  I,  again. 


A  DARK   REMEMBRANCE.  253 

"  'I'll  be  frank  with  you,'  said  he,  in  a  low,  confidential 
tone.  '  Towers  wants  to  be  certain  of  one  thing.  Mind, 
now,'  added  he,  '  I  'm  sworn  to  secrecy,  and  I  'm  telling  you 
now  what  I  solemnly  swore  never  to  reveal ;  so  don't  betray 
me,  Paul.  Give  me  your  hand  on  it.'  And  I  gave  him  my 
hand. 

"  Even  after  I  had  given  him  this  pledge,  he  seemed  to 
have  become  timorous,  and  for  a  few  minutes  he  faltered  and 
hesitated,  totally  unable  to  proceed.  At  last  he  said,  half 
inquiringly,  — 

"  '  At  all  events,  Paul,  you  cannot  like  Hawke? ' 

"  '  Like  him  !  there  is  not  the  man  on  earth  I  hate  as  I  hate 
him  I ' 

"  '  That 's  exactly  what  Towers  said :  "  Paul  detests  him 
more  than  we  do."  ' 

"  The  moment  Collins  said  these  words  the  whole  thing 
flashed  full  upon  me.  They  were  plotting  to  do  for  Hawke, 
and  wanted  to  know  how  far  I  might  be  trusted  in  the 
scheme. 

"  '  Look  here,  Tom,'  said  I,  confidentially ;  '  don't  tell  me 
anything.  I  don't  want  to  be  charged  with  other  men's 
secrets;  and,  in  return,  I'll  promise  not  to  pry  after  them. 
"Make  your  little  game,"  as  they  say  at  Ascot,  and  don't 
ask  whether  I  'm  in  the  ring  or  not.  Do  you  understand 
me?' 

"'I  do,  perfectly,'  said  he.  'The  only  point  Towers 
really  wanted  to  be  sure  of  is,  what  of  her  ?  What  he  says 
is,  there  's  no  telling  what  a  woman  will  do.' 

"  '  If  I  were  merely  to  give  an  opinion.'  said  I,  carelessly, 
'  I  'd  say,  no  danger  from  that  quarter  ;  but,  mind,  it 's  only 
an  opinion.' 

"'Wake  says  you'd  marry  her,'  said  he,  bluntly,  and 
with  an  abruptness  that  showed  he  had  at  length  got  courage 
to  say  what  he  wanted. 

"  '  Tom  Collins,'  said  I,  seriously,  '  let  us  play  fair;  don't 
question  me,  and  I  '11  not  question  i/oii.' 

"  '  But  you  '11  come  along  with  us?  '  asked  he,  eagerly. 

"  '  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  now,'  said  I ;  '  but  if  I  do, 
it  '8  on  one  only  condition.' 

"  '  And  that  is —  ' 


254  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  '  That  I  'm  to  know  nothing,  or  hear  nothing,  of  what- 
ever you  're  about.  I  tell  you  distinctly  that  I  '11  not  pry 
anywhere,  but,  in  return,  treat  me  as  a  stranger  in  whose 
discretion  you  cannot  trust.' 

"  '  You  like  sure  profits  and  a  safe  venture,  in  fact,'  said 
he,  sneeringly. 

"  '  Say  one  half  of  that  again,  Collins,'  said  I,  '  and  I'll 
cut  with  the  whole  lot  of  you.  I  ask  no  share.  I  'd  accept 
no  share  in  your  gains  here.' 

"'But  you '11  not  peach  on  us,  Paul?'  said  he,  catching 
m}'  hand. 

"  '  Never,'  said  I,  '  as  long  as  you  are  on  the  square  with 
me.' 

"  After  this,  he  broke  out  into  the  wildest  abuse  of  Hawke, 
making  him  out  —  as  it  was  not  hard  to  do  —  the  greatest 
villain  alive,  mingling  the  attack  with  a  variety  of  details  of 
the  vast  sums  he  had  latterly  been  receiving.  '  There  are,' 
he  said,  '  more  than  two  thousand  in  hard  cash  in  his  hands 
at  this  moment,  and  a  number  of  railway  shares  and  some 
Peruvian  bonds,  part  of  his  first  wife's  fortune,  which  he  has 
just  recovered  by  a  lawsuit.'  So  close  and  accurate  were  all 
these  details,  so  circumstantial  every  part  of  the  story,  that 
I  perceived  the  plan  must  have  been  long  prepared,  and  only 
waiting  for  a  favorable  moment  for  execution.  With  this 
talk  he  occupied  the  whole  way,  till  I  reached  my  lodgings. 

'"And  now,  Paul,'  said  he,  'before  we  part,  give  me 
your  word  of  honor  once  more.' 

"'There's  my  pledge,'  said  I,  'and  there's  my  hand. 
So  long  as  I  hear  nothing,  and  see  nothing,  I  know  noth- 
ing.'    And  we  said  good-night,  and  separated. 

"So  long  as  I  was  talking  with  Collins,"  continued  Paten, 
—  "so  long,  in  fact,  as  I  was  taking  my  own  side  in  the 
discussion,  —  I  did  not  see  any  difficulty  in  thus  holding 
myself  aloof  from  the  scheme,  and  not  taking  any  part 
whatever  in  the  game  played  out  before  me;  but  when  I 
found  myself  alone  in  my  room,  and  began  to  conjure  up 
an  inquest  and  a  trial,  and  all  the  searching  details  of  a 
cross-examination,  I  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  I  remem- 
ber to  this  hour  how  I  walked  to  and  fro  in  my  room,  put- 
ting questions  to  myself  aloud,  and  in  the  tone  of  an  exam- 


A  DARK   REMEMBRANCE.  255 

ining  counsel,  till  my  heart  sickened  with  fear ;  and  when  at 
last  I  lay  down,  wearied  but  not  sleepy,  on  my  bed,  it  was 
to  swear  a  solemn  vow  that  nothing  on  earth  should  induce 
me  to  go  over  to  Jersey. 

"The  next  day  I  was  ill  and  tired,  and  I  kept  my  bed, 
telling  my  servant  to  let  no  one  disturb  me  on  any  pretext. 
Towers  called,  but  was  not  admitted.  Collins  came  twice, 
and  tried  hard  to  see  me,  but  my  man  was  firm,  so  that  Tom 
was  fain  to  write  a  few  words  on  a  card,  in  pencil :  '  H.  is 
ill  at  Limmer's;  but  it  is  only  del.  tremens,  and  he  will  be 
all  right  by  Saturday.  The  boat  leaves  Blackwall  at  eleven. 
Don't  fail  to  be  in  time.'  This  was  Thursday.  There  was 
no  time  to  lose,  if  I  only  knew  what  was  best  to  be  done. 
I  '11  not  weary  you  with  the  terrible  tale  of  that  day's  tor- 
tures ;  how  I  thought  over  every  expedient  in  turn,  and  in 
turu  rejected  it;  now  I  would  go  to  Hawke,  and  tell  him 
everything;  now  to  the  Secretary  of  State  at  the  Home 
Office;  now  to  Scotland  Yard,  to  inform  the  police;  then 
I  bethought  me  of  trying  to  dissuade  Towers  and  the  others 
from  the  project;  and  at  last  I  resolved  to  make  a  '  bolt'  of 
it,  and  set  out  for  Ireland  by  the  night  mail,  and  lie  hid  in 
some  secluded  spot  till  all  was  over.  About  four  o'clock  I 
got  up,  and,  throwing  on  my  dressing-gown,  I  walked  to  the 
window.  It  was  a  dark,  dull  day,  with  a  thin  rain  falling, 
and  few  persons  about;  but  just  as  I  was  turning  away  from 
the  window  I  saw  a  tall,  coarse-looking  fellow  pass  into  the 
oyster-shop  opposite,  giving  a  glance  up  towards  me  as  he 
went;  the  next  minute  a  man  in  a  long  camlet  cloak  left  the 
shop,  and  walked  down  the  street ;  and,  muftied  though  he 
was  from  head  to  foot,  I  knew  it  was  Towers. 

"I  suppose  my  conscience  wasn't  all  right,  for  I  sank 
down  into  a  chair  as  sick  as  if  I'd  been  a  mouth  in  a 
fever.  I  saw  they  had  set  a  watch  on  me,  and  I  knew  well 
the  men  I  had  to  deal  with.  If  Towers  or  Wake  so  much 
as  suspected  me,  they  'd  make  all  safe  before  they  ventured 
further.  I  looked  out  again,  and  there  was  the  big  man, 
with  a  dark  blue  woollen  comforter  round  his  throat,  read- 
ing the  advertisements  on  a  closed  shutter,  and  then  stroll- 
ing negligently  along  the  street.  Tliough  his  hat  was 
pressed  down  over  his  eyes,  I  saw  them  watching  me  as  he 


256  ONE  OF  THEM. 

went ;  and  such  was  my  terror  that  I  fancied  they  were  still 
gazing  at  me  after  he  turned  the  corner. 

"Fully  determined  now  to  make  my  escape,  I  sat  down 
and  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Collins,  saying  that  a  relation  of 
mine,  from  whom  I  had  some  small  expectations,  was  taken 
suddenly  ill,  and  sent  for  me  to  come  over  and  see  him,  so 
that  I  was  obliged  to  start  for  Ireland  by  that  night's  mail. 
I  never  once  alluded  to  Jersey,  but  concluded  with  a  kindly 
message  to  all  friends,  and  a  hasty  good-bye. 

"Desiring  to  have  my  servant  out  of  the  way,  1  de- 
spatched him  with  this  note,  and  then  set  about  making  my 
own  preparations  for  departure.  It  was  now  later  than  I 
suspected,  so  that  I  had  barely  time  to  pack  some  clothes 
hastily  into  a  carpet-bag,  and  cautiously  descended  the 
stairs  with  it  in  my  hand,  opened  the  street  door  and  issued 
forth.  Before  I  had,  however,  gone  ten  yards  from  the 
door,  the  large  man  was  at  my  side,  and  in  a  gruff  voice 
offered  to  carry  my  bag.  I  refused  as  roughly,  and  walked 
on  towards  the  cab-stand.  I  selected  a  cab,  and  said  Euston 
Square;  and  as  I  did  so,  the  big  fellow  mounted  the  box 
and  sat  down  beside  the  driver.  I  saw  it  was  no  use,  and, 
affecting  to  have  forgotten  something  at  my  lodgings,  I  got 
out,  paid  the  cab,  and  returned  home.  How  cowardly! 
you'd  say.  No,  Stocmar,  I  knew  my  men:  it  was  not 
cowardly.  I  knew  that,  however  they  might  abandon  a 
project  or  forego  a  plan,  they  would  never,  never  forgive  a 
confederate  that  tried  to  betray  them.  No,  no,"  muttered 
he,  below  his  breath;  "no  man  shall  tell  me  it  was 
cowardice. 

"  When  I  saw  that  there  was  no  way  to  turn  back,  I  deter- 
mined to  go  forward  boldly,  and  even  eagerly,  trusting  to 
the  course  of  events  to  give  me  a  chance  of  escape.  I 
wrote  to  Collins  to  say  that  my  relative  was  better,  and 
should  not  require  me  to  go  over;  and,  in  short,  by  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  appointed  Saturday,  we  all  assembled  on  the 
deck  of  the  '  St.  Helier,'  bound  for  Jersey. 

"Never  was  a  jollier  party  met  for  an  excursion  of  pleas- 
ure, —  all  but  Hawke  himself ;  he  came  aboard  very  ill,  and 
went  at  once  to  his  berth.  He  was  in  that  most  pitiable 
state,  the  commencing  convalescence  of  delirium  tremens. 


A   DARK   REMEMBRANCE.  257 

when  all  the  terrors  of  a  deranged  mind  still  continue  to 
disturb  and  distress  the  recovering  intellect.  As  we  went 
down  one  by  one  to  see  him,  he  would  scarcely  speak,  or 
even  notice  us.  At  times,  too,  he  seemed  to  have  forgotten 
the  circumstance  which  brought  us  all  there,  and  he  would 
mutter  to  himself,  '  It  was  no  good  job  gathered  all  these 
fellows  together.  Where  can  they  be  going  to  ?  What  can 
they  be  after?  '  We  had  just  sat  down  to  dinner,  when 
Towers  came  laughing  into  the  cabin.  '  What  do  you  think,' 
said  he  to  me,  '  Hawke  has  just  told  me  confidentially  ?  He 
said,  "I  'm  not  at  all  easy  about  that  lot  on  deck,"  —  mean- 
ing you  all.  "The  devil  doesn't  muster  his  men  for  mere 
drill  and  parade,  and  the  moment  I  land  in  the  island  I  '11 
tell  the  police  to  have  an  eye  on  them."  '  We  laughed 
heartily  at  this  polite  intention  of  our  host,  and  joked  a 
good  deal  over  the  various  imputations  our  presence  might 
excite.  From  this  we  went  on  to  talk  over  what  was  to  be 
done  if  Hawke  should  continue  ill,  all  being  agreed  that, 
having  come  so  far,  it  would  be  impossible  to  forego  our 
projected  pleasure:  and  at  last  it  was  decided  that  I,  by 
virtue  of  certain  domestic  relations  ascribed  to  me,  should 
enact  the  host,  and  do  the  honors  of  the  house,  and  so  they 
filled  bumpers  to  the  Regency,  and  I  promised  to  be  a  mild 
Prince. 

"  '  There  's  the  thing  for  Godfrey,'  said  Towers,  as  some 
grilled  chicken  was  handed  round;  and  taking  the  dish 
from  the  waiter,  he  carried  it  himself  to  Hawke,  and 
remained  while  he  ate  it.  '  Poor  devil ! '  said  he,  as  he  came 
back,  '  he  seems  quite  soft-hearted  about  my  little  atten- 
tions to  him.     He  actually  said,  "Thank  you,  old  fellow."  '  " 

Perhaps  our  reader  will  thank  us  if  we  do  not  follow 
Paten  through  a  narrative  in  which  the  minutest  detail  was 
recoi'ded,  nor  any,  even  the  most  trivial,  incident  forgotten, 
graven  as  they  were  on  a  mind  that  was  to  retain  them  to 
the  last.  All  the  levities  they  indulged  in  during  the  voy- 
age,—  which  was,  in  fact,  little  other  than  an  orgie  from 
the  hour  they  sailed  to  that  they  landed,  dashed  with  little 
gloomy  visits  to  that  darkened  sick  berth  where  Hawke 
lay,  —  all  were  remembered,  all  chronicled. 
17 


258  ONE   OF  THEM. 

The  cottage  itself  —  The  Hawke's  Nest,  as  it  was  whimsi- 
cally called  —  he  described  with  all  the  picturesque  ardor  of 
an  artist.  It  was  truly  a  most  lovely  spot,  nestled  down  in 
a  cleft  between  the  hills,  and  so  shut  in  from  all  wintry 
influences  that  the  oranges  and  myrtles  overgrew  it  as 
though  the  soil  were  Italy.  The  grounds  were  of  that  half- 
park,  half-garden  order,  which  combines  greensward  and 
flowering  border,  and  masses  into  one  beauteous  whole  the 
glories  of  the  forest-tree  with  the  spray-like  elegance  of  the 
shrub.  There  was  a  little  lake,  too,  with  an  island,  over 
whose  leafy  copper  beeches  a  little  Gothic  spire  appeared, 
—  an  imitation  of  some  richly  ornamented  shrine  in  Moor- 
ish Spain.  What  was  it  that  in  this  dark  story  would  still 
attract  him  to  the  scenery  of  this  spot,  making  him  linger 
and  dally  in  it  as  though  he  could  not  tear  himself  away? 
Why  would  he  loiter  in  description  of  some  shady  alley, 
some  woodbine- trellised  path,  as  though  the  scene  had  no 
other  memories  but  those  of  a  blissful  bygone?  In  fact, 
such  was  the  sort  of  fascination  the  locality  seemed  to  exer- 
cise over  him,  that  his  voice  grew  softer,  the  words  faltered 
as  he  spoke  them,  and  once  he  drew  his  hand  across  his 
eyes,  as  though  to  wipe  away  a  tear. 

"Was  it  not  strange,  Stocmar,"  broke  he  suddenly  in, 
"I  was  never  able  to  see  her  one  moment  alone?  She 
avoided  it  in  fifty  ways!  Hawke  kept  his  room  for  two 
days  after  we  arrived,  and  we  scarcely  ever  saw  her,  and 
when  we  did,  it  was  hurriedly  and  passingly.  Godfrey, 
too,  he  would  send  for  one  of  us,  —  always  one,  mark  you, 
alone ;  and  after  a  few  muttering  words  about  his  suffering, 
he  'd  be  sure  to  say,  '  Can  you  tell  me  what  has  brought 
them  all  down  here?  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  head  that 
there  ain't  mischief  brewing.'  Now  each  of  us  in  turn  had 
heard  this  speech,  and  we  conned  it  over  and  over  again. 
'It's  the  woman  has  put  this  notion  in  his  head,'  said 
Towers.  '  I  '11  take  my  oath  it  came  from  her.  Look  to 
that.,  Paul  Hunt,'  said  he  to  me,  '  for  you  have  influence  in 
that  quarter.'  I  retorted  angrily  to  this,  and  very  high 
words  passed  between  us;  in  fact,  the  altercation  went  so 
far  that,  when  we  met  at  dinner,  we  never  addressed  or 
noticed  each  other.     I  '11  never  forget  that  dinner.     Wake 


A  DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  269 

seemed  to  range  himself  on  Towers' s  side,  and  Collins 
looked  half  disposed  to  take  mine ;  everything  that  was  said 
by  one  was  sure  to  be  capped  by  some  sharp  impertinence 
by  another,  and  we  sat  there  interchanging  slights  and 
sneers  and  half-covert  insolences  for  hours. 

"If  there  had  been  a  steamer  for  Southampton,  I  'd  have 
started  next  morning.  I  told  Collins  so  when  I  went  to  my 
room ;  but  he  was  much  opposed  to  this,  and  said,  '  If  we 
draw  back  now,  it  must  be  with  Towers  and  Wake,  —  all 
or  none! '  We  passed  nearly  the  entire  night  in  discussing 
the  point,  and  could  not  agree  on  it. 

"I  suppose  that  Ilawke  must  have  heard  how  ill  we  all 
got  on  together.  There  was  a  little  girl  —  a  daughter  by 
his  first  wife  —  always  in  and  out  of  the  room  where  we 
were;  and  though  in  appearance  a  mere  infant,  the  shrewd- 
est, craftiest  little  sprite  I  ever  beheld.  Now  this  Clara,  I 
suspect,  told  Hawke  everything  that  passed.  I  know  for 
certain  that  she  was  in  the  flower-garden,  outside  the  win- 
dow, during  a  very  angry  altercation  between  Towers  and 
myself,  and  when  I  went  up  afterwards  to  see  Hawke  he 
knew  the  whole  story. 

"What  a  day  that  was!  I  had  asked  Loo  to  let  me  speak 
a  few  words  with  her  alone,  and,  after  great  hesitation,  she 
promised  to  meet  me  in  the  garden  in  the  evening.  I  had  de- 
termined on  telling  her  everything.  I  was  resolved  to  break 
with  Towers  and  Wake,  and  I  trusted  to  her  clear  head  to 
advise  how  best  to  do  it.  The  greater  part  of  the  morning 
Towers  was  up  in  Hawke's  room ;  he  had  always  an  immense 
influence  over  Godfrey;  he  knew  things  about  him  none 
others  had  ever  heard  of,  and,  when  he  came  downstairs, 
lie  took  the  doctor  —  it  was  your  old  Professor,  that  mad 
fellow  —  into  the  library,  and  spent  full  an  hour  with  him. 
When  Towers  came  out  afterwards,  he  seemed  to  have  got 
over  his  angry  feeling  towards  me,  and,  coming  up  in  all 
seeming  frankness,  took  my  arm,  and  led  me  out  into  the 
shrubbery. 

'■'Hawke  is  sinking  rapidly,'  said  he;  '  the  doctor  says 
he  cannot  possibly  recover.' 

"'Indeed!'  said  I,  amazed.  'What  does  he  call  the 
malady  ? ' 


260  ONE   OF   THEM. 

"  '  He  says  it's  a  break-up,  — a  general  smash,  — lungs, 
liver,  brain,  all  destroyed ;  a  common  complaint  with  fel- 
lows who  have  lived  hard.'  He  looked  at  me  steadily, 
almost  fiercely,  as  he  said  this,  but  I  seemed  quite  insen- 
sible to  his  gaze.  '  He  '11  not  leave  her  a  farthing,'  added 
he,  after  a  moment. 

"  '  The  greater  villain  he,  then,'  said  I.  '  It  was  for  him 
she  ruined  herself.' 

"  'Yes,  yes,  that  was  all  true  enough  once;  but  no%v^ 
Master  Paul,  —  now  there  's  another  story,  you  know.' 

"  '  If  you  mean  under  the  guise  of  a  confidence  to  renew 
the  insults  you  dared  to  pass  upon  me  yesterday, '  said  I,  '  I 
tell  you  at  once  I  '11  not  bear  it.' 

'"  Can't  you  distinguish  between  friendship  and  indiffer- 
ence?' said  he,  warmly.  'I  don't  ask  you  to  trust  me 
with  your  secrets,  but  let  us  talk  like  men,  not  like  children. 
Hawke  intends  to  alter  his  will  to-morrow.  It  had  been 
made  in  her  favor;  at  least,  he  left  her  this  place  here,  and 
some  small  thing  he  had  in  Wales;  he 's  going  to  change 
everything  and  leave  all  to  the  girl.' 

"  '  It  can't  be  a  considerable  thing,  after  all,'  said  I,  peev- 
ishly, and  not  well  knowing  what  I  said. 

"  '  Pardon  me,'  broke  he  in;  '  he  has  won  far  more  than 
any  of  us  suspected.  He  has  in  hard  cash  above  two  thou- 
sand pounds  in  the  house,  a  mass  of  acceptances  in  good 
paper,  and  several  bonds  of  first-rate  men.  I  went  over  his 
papers  this  morning  with  him,  and  saw  his  book,  too,  for  the 
Oaks,  —  a  thing,  I  suppose,  he  had  never  shown  to  any 
living  man  before.  He  has  let  us  all  in  there,  Paul ;  he  has, 
by  Jove!  for  while  telling  us  to  put  all  upon  Jeremy,  he  's 
going  to  win  with  Proserpine ! ' 

"I  confess  the  baseness  of  this  treachery  sickened  me. 

"  '  "  How  Paul  will  storm,  and  rave,  and  curse  me  when 
he  finds  it  out,"  said  he;  "but  there  was  no  love  lost  be- 
tween us."     He  never  liked  you.  Hunt,  — never.' 

"  '  It 's  not  too  late  yet,'  said  I,  '  to  hedge  about  and  save 
ourselves. ' 

"  '  No,  there  's  time  still,  especially  if  he  "hops  the  twig." 
Now,'  said  he,  after  a  long  pause,  '  if  by  any  chance  be 
were  to  die  to-night,  sAe 'd  be  safe;  she'd  at  least  inherit 


A   DARK   REMEMBRANCE.  261 

some  hundreds  a  year,  and  a  good  deal  of  personal 
property. ' 

'• '  There  's  no  chance  of  that,  though,'  said  I,  negligently. 

"  '  Who  told  you  so,  Paul?  '  said  he,  with  a  cunning  cast 
of  his  eye.  '  That  old  drunken  doctor  said  he  'd  not  insure 
him  for  twenty-four  hours.  A  rum  old  beast  he  is!  Do 
you  know  what  he  said  to  me  awhile  ago?  "Captain," 
said  he,  "do  you  know  anything  about  chemistry  ?  "  "  Noth- 
ing whatever,"  said  I.  "Well,"  said  he,  with  a  hiccup, — 
for  he  was  far  gone  in  liquor,  —  "  albumen  is  the  antidote 
to  the  muriate;  and  if  you  want  to  give  him  a  longer  line, 
let  him  have  an  egg  to  eat."  '  " 

''  Good  Heavens !     Do  you  mean  that  he  suspected  —  " 

"He  was  dead  drunk  two  minutes  afterwards,  and  said 
that  Hawke  was  dying  of  typhus,  and  that  he  'd  certify 
under  his  hand.  'But  no  matter  about  him,''  said  he,  im- 
patiently. '  If  Hawke  goes  off  to-night,  it  wil)  be  a  good 
thing  for  all  of  us.  Here  's  this  imp  of  a  child! '  muttered 
he,  below  his  breath;  '  let  us  be  careful.'  And  so  we  parted 
company,  each  taking  his  own  road. 

"I  walked  about  the  grounds  alone  all  day,  — I  need  not 
tell  you  with  what  a  heavy  heart  and  a  loaded  conscience, 
—  and  only  came  back  to  dinner.  We  were  just  sitting 
down  to  table,  when  the  door  opened,  and,  like  a  corpse  out 
of  his  grave,  Hawke  stole  slowly  in,  and  sat  down  amongst 
us.  He  never  spoke  a  word,  nor  looked  at  any  one.  I 
swear  to  you,  so  terrible  was  the  apparition,  so  ghastly,  and 
so  death-like,  that  I  almost  doubted  if  he  were  still  living. 

"  '  Well  done,  old  boy!  there  's  nothing  will  do  you  such 
good  as  a  little  cheering  up, '  cried  Towers. 

"  '  She's  asleep,'  said  he,  in  a  low,  feeble  voice,  'and  so 
I  stole  down  to  eat  my  last  dinner  with  you.' 

"  '  Not  the  last  for  many  a  year  to  come,'  said  Wake, 
filling  his  glass.     '  The  doctor  says  you  are  made  of  iron.' 

"  '  A  man  of  mettle,  I  suppose,'  said  he,  with  a  feeble 
attempt  to  laugh. 

"'There!  isn't  he  quite  himself  again?'  cried  Wake. 
'  By  George !  he  '11  see  us  all  down  yet ! ' 

"  '  Down  where?  '  said  Hawke,  solemnly.  And  the  tone 
and  the  words  struck  a  chill  over  us. 


262  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"We  did  not  rally  for  some  time,  and  when  we  did,  it 
was  with  an  effort  forced  and  unnatural.  Hawke  took 
something  on  his  plate,  but  ate  none  of  it,  turning  the  meat 
over  with  his  fork  in  a  listless  way.  His  wine,  too,  he  laid 
down  when  half-way  to  his  lips,  and  then  spat  it  out  over 
the  carpet,  saying  to  himself  something  inaudible. 

"'What's  the  matter,  Godfrey?  Don't  you  like  that 
capital  sherry  ?  '   said  Towers. 

"  '  No,'  said  he,  in  a  hollow,  sepulchral  voice. 

"  '  We  have  all  pronouuced  it  admirable,'  went  on  the 
other. 

"  '  It  burns,  — everything  burns,'  said  the  sick  man. 

"I  filled  him  a  glass  of  iced  water  and  handed  it  to  him, 
and  Towers  gave  me  a  look  so  full  of  hate  and  vengeance 
that  my  hand  nearly  let  the  tumbler  drop. 

"  '  Don't  drink  cold  water,  man! '  cried  Towers,  catching 
his  arm;  '  that  is  the  worst  thing  in  the  world  for  you.' 

"'It  won't  poison  me,  will  it?'  said  Hawke.  And  he 
fixed  his  leaden,  glazy  gaze  on  Towers. 

"'What  the  devil  do  j'ou  mean?'  cried  he,  savagely. 
'  This  is  an  ugly  jest,  sir. ' 

"  The  sick  man,  evidently  more  startled  by  the  violence  of 
the  manner  than  by  the  words  themselves,  looked  from  one 
to  the  other  of  us  all  round  the  table. 

"  '  Forgive  me,  old  fellow,'  burst  in  Towers,  with  an 
attempt  to  laugh;  '  but  the  whole  of  this  day,  I  can't  say 
why  or  how,  but  everything  irritates  and  chafes  me.  I  really 
believe  that  we  all  eat  and  drink  too  well  here.  We  live 
like  fighting-cocks,  and,  of  course,  are  always  ready  for 
conflict.' 

"We  all  did  our  best  to  forget  the  unpleasant  interruption 
of  a  few  minutes  back,  and  talked  away  with  a  sort  of  over- 
eagerness.  But  Hawke  never  spoke;  there  he  sat,  turning 
his  glazed,  filmy  look  from  one  to  the  other,  as  though  in 
vain  trying  to  catch  up  something  of  what  went  forward. 
He  looked  so  ill  —  so  fearfully  ill,  all  the  while,  that  it 
seemed  a  shame  to  sit  carousing  there  around  him,  and  so  I 
whispered  to  Collins;  but  Towers  overheard  me,  and  said, — 

"  'All  wrong.  You  don't  know  what  tough  material  he 
is  made  of.     This  is  the   very  thing  to  rally  him,  —  eh. 


A  f)ARK   REMEMBRANCE.  263 

Godfrey?  '  cried  he,  louder.  '  I  'm  telling  these  fellows  that 
you  '11  be  all  the  better  for  coming  down  amongst  us,  and 
that  when  I  've  made  you  a  brew  of  that  milk-punch  you 
are  so  fond  of  — ' 

"  '  It  won't  burn  my  throat,  will  it?  '  whined  out  the  sick 
man. 

•■ '  Burn  your  throat!  not  a  bit  of  it ;  but  warm  your  blood 
up,  give  energy  to  your  heart,  and  brace  your  nerves,  so 
that  before  the  bowl  is  finished  you  '11  sing  us  "Tom 
Hall;  "  or,  better  still,  "That  rainy  day  I  met  her,"  — 

"  That  rainy  day  I  met  her, 

When  she  tripped  along  the  street, 
And,  with  petticoat  half  lifted. 
Showed  a  dainty  pair  of  feet." 

How  does  it  go? '  said  he,  trying  to  catch  the  tune. 

"A  ghastly  grin  —  an  expression  more  horrible  than  I 
ever  saw  on  a  human  face  before  —  was  Hawke's  recogni- 
tion of  this  appeal  to  him,  and,  beating  his  fingers  feebly 
on  the  table,  he  seemed  trying  to  recall  the  air. 

"  '  I  can't  stand  this  any  longer,'  whispered  Wake  to  me; 
'  the  man  is  dying ! ' 

"'Confound  you  for  a  fool!'  said  Towers,  angrily. 
'  You  '11  see  what  a  change  an  hour  will  make  in  him.  I  've 
got  the  receipt  for  that  milk-punch  up  in  my  room.  I  '11  go 
and  fetch  it.'  And  with  this  he  arose,  and  hastily  left 
the  room. 

"  'Where's  Tom?'  said  the  sick  man,  with  a  look  of 
painful  eagerness.     '  Where  is  he  ?  ' 

"  'He's  gone  for  the  receipt  of  the  milk-punch;  he's 
going  to  make  a  brew  for  you! '  said  I. 

"  '  But  I  won't  take  it,  I  '11  taste  nothing  more,'  said  he, 
with  a  marked  emphasis.  '  I  '11  take  nothing  but  what  Loo 
gives  me,'  muttered  he,  below  his  breath.  And  we  all  ex- 
changed significant  looks  with  each  other. 

"  '  This  will  never  do,'  murmured  Wake,  in  a  low  voice. 
*  Say  something  —  tell  a  story  —  but  let  us  keep  moving.' 

"And  Collins  began  some  narrative  of  his  early  experi- 
ences on  the  Turf.  The  story,  like  all  such,  was  the  old 
burden  of  knave  and  dupe,  —  the  man  who  trusted  and  the 
man  who  cheated.     None  of  us  paid  much  attention  to  the 


264  ONE   OF  THEM. 

details,  but  drank  away  at  our  wine,  and  sent  the  decanters 
briskly  round,  when  suddenly,  at  the  mention  of  a  horse 
being  found  dead  in  his  stall  on  the  morning  he  was  to  have 
run,  Hawke  broke  in  with  '  Nobbled!     Just  like  me! ' 

"  Though  the  words  were  uttered  in  a  sort  of  revery,  and 
with  a  bent-down  head,  we  all  were  struck  dumb,  and  gazed 
ruefully  at  each  other.  '  Where  's  Towers  all  this  time?  ' 
said  Collins  to  me,  in  a  whisper.  I  looked  at  my  watch, 
and  saw  that  it  was  forty-four  minutes  since  he  left  the 
room.  I  almost  started  up  from  my  seat  with  terror,  as  I 
thought  what  this  long  absence  might  portend.  Had  he 
actually  gone  off,  leaving  us  all  to  the  perils  that  were  sur- 
rounding us  ?  Was  it  that  he  had  gone  to  betray  us  to  the 
law  ?  I  could  not  speak  from  fear  when  the  door  opened, 
and  he  came  in  and  sat  down  in  his  place.  Though  endeav- 
oring to  seem  easy  and  unconcerned,  I  could  mark  that  he 
wore  an  air  of  triumph  and  success  that  he  could  not 
subdue. 

"  '  Here  comes  the  brew,'  said  he,  as  the  servant  brought 
in  a  large  smoking  bowl  of  fragrant  mixture. 

"  '  I  '11  not  touch  it!  '  said  Hawke,  with  a  resolute  tone 
that  startled  us. 

"  '  What!  after  giving  me  more  than  half  an  hour's  trouble 
in  preparing  it, '  said  Towers.  '  Come,  old  fellow,  that  is 
not  gracious. ' 

"  '  Drink  it  yourselves! '  said  Hawke,  sulkily. 

"  '  So  we  will,  after  we'have  finished  this  Burgundy,'  said 
Towers.  '  But,  meanwhile,  what  will  you  have?  It 's  poor 
fun  to  sit  here  with  an  empty  glass.'  And  he  filled  him 
out  a  goblet  of  the  milk-punch  and  placed  it  before  him. 
'  Here  's  to  the  yellow  jacket  with  black  sleeves,'  said  he, 
lifting  his  glass;  '  and  may  we  see  him  the  first  "round  the 
corner."  ' 

'"First  "round  the  corner!"'  chorussed  the  rest  of  us. 
And  Hawke,  catching  up  the  spirit  of  the  toast,  seized  his 
glass  and  drank  it  off. 

"  '  I  knew  he  'd  drink  his  own  colors  if  he  had  one  leg  in 
the  grave ! '  said  Towers. 

"The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  ten  at  the  moment. 
It  was  the  hour  I  was  to  meet  her  in  the  shrubbery;  and  so. 


A  DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  265 

pretending  to  go  in  search  of  my  cigar-case,  I  slipped  away 
and  left  them.  As  I  was  passing  behind  Hawke's  chair,  he 
made  a  gesture  to  me  to  come  near  him.  I  bent  down  my 
head  to  him,  and  he  said,  '  It  won't  do  this  time;  she  '11  not 
meet  you,  Paul. '  These  were  the  last  words  I  ever  heard 
him  speak." 

When  Paten  had  got  thus  far,  he  walked  away  from  his 
friend,  and,  leaning  his  arm  on  the  bulwark,  seemed  over- 
whelmed with  the  dreary  retrospect.  He  remained  thus  for 
a  considerable  time,  and  only  rallied  as  Stocmar,  drawing 
his  arm  within  his,  said,  "Come,  come,  this  is  no  fresh 
sorrow  now.     Let  me  hear  the  remainder." 

"He  spoke  truly,"  said  he,  in  a  broken  voice.  "She 
never  came !  I  walked  the  grounds  for  above  an  hour  and  a 
half,  and  then  I  came  back  towards  the  cottage.  There  was 
a  light  in  her  room,  and  I  whistled  to  attract  her  notice, 
and  threw  some  gravel  against  the  glass,  but  she  only  closed 
the  shutters,  and  did  not  mind  me.  I  cannot  tell  you  how 
my  mind  was  racked  between  the  actual  terror  of  the  situa- 
tion and  the  vague  dread  of  some  unknown  evil.  "What  had 
produced  this  change  in  her?  Why  had  she  broken  with 
me?  Could  it  be  that  Towers  had  seen  her  in  that  long 
interval  he  was  absent  from  the  table,  and,  if  so,  to  what 
intent?  She  always  hated  and  dreaded  him;  but  who  could 
tell  what  influence  such  a  man  might  acquire  in  a  moment 
of  terrible  interest?  A  horrible  sense  of  jealousy  —  not  the 
less  maddening  that  it  was  shadowy  and  uncertain  —  now 
filled  my  mind;  and  —  would  you  believe  it?  —  I  thought 
worse  of  Towers  for  his  conduct  towards  me  than  for  the 
dreadful  plot  against  Hawke.  Chance  led  me,  as  I  walked, 
to  the  bank  of  the  little  lake,  where  I  stood  for  some  time 
thinking.  Suddenly  a  splash  —  too  heavy  for  the  spring  of 
a  fish  —  startled  me,  and  immediately  after  I  heard  the 
sound  of  some  one  forcing  his  way  through  the  close  under- 
wood beside  me.  Before  I  had  well  rallied  from  my  aston- 
ishment, a  voice  I  well  knew  to  be  that  of  Towers,  cried 
out,  — 

"  '  Who  's  there?  —  who  are  you?  ' 

"I  called  out,  '  Hunt,  —  Paul  Hunt! ' 

"  '  And  what  the  devil  brings  you  here,  may  I  ask  ?  '  said 


266  ONE   OF  THEM. 

he,  insolently,  but  in  a  tone  that  showed  he  had  been  drink- 
ing deeply. 

"  It  was  no  time  to  provoke  discord ;  it  was  a  moment  that 
demanded  all  we  could  muster  of  concession  and  agreement, 
and  so  I  simply  told  how  mere  accident  had  turned  my  steps 
in  this  direction. 

"'What  if  I  said  I  don't  believe  you,  Paul  Hunt?'  re- 
torted he,  savagely.  '  What  if  I  said  that  I  see  your  whole 
game  in  this  business,  and  know  every  turn  and  every  trick 
you  mean  to  play  us  ? ' 

"'If  you  had  not  drunk  so  much  of  Godfrey's  Bur- 
gundy,' said  I,  '  you'd  never  have  spoken  this  way  to  an  old 
friend.' 

"'Friend  be  !'    cried  he,  savagely.      'I   know  no 

friends  but  the  men  who  will  share  danger  with  you  as  well 
as  drink  out  of  the  same  bottle.  Why  did  you  leave  us  this 
evening?' 

"  'I'll  be  frank  with  you,  Tom,'  said  I.  'I  had  made  a 
rendezvous  with  Louisa ;  but  she  never  came.' 

' '  '  Why  should  she  ? '  muttered  he,  angrily.  '  Why  should 
she  trust  the  man  who  is  false  to  his  pals?' 

"  '  That  I  have  never  been,'  broke  I  in.  '  Ask  Hawke 
himself.  Ask  Godfrey,  and  he'll  tell  you  whether  I  have 
ever  dropped  a  word  against  you.' 

"  '  No,  he  would  n't,'  said  he,  doggedly. 

"  '  I  tell  you  he  would,'  cried  I.  '  Let  us  go  to  him  this 
minute.' 

"  'I'd  rather  not,  if  the  choice  were  given  me,'  said  he, 
with  a  horrid  laugh. 

"  '  Do  you  mean,'  cried  I,  in  terror,  —  '  do  you  mean  that 
it  is  all  over?' 

"  '  All  over !  '  said  he,  gravely,  and  as  though  his  clouded 
faculties  were  suddenly  cleared.  '  Godfrey  knows  all  about 
it  by  this  time,'  muttered  he,  half  to  himself. 

"  'Would  to  Heaven  we  had  never  come  here!  '  burst  I 
in,  for  ray  heart  was  breaking  with  anguish  and  remorse. 
'How  did  it  happen,  and  where?' 

"  '  In  the  chair  where  you  last  saw  him.  We  thought  he 
had  fallen  asleep,  and  were  for  having  him  carried  up  to 
bed,  when  he   gave  a  slight   shudder  and  woke   up  again. 


A  DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  267 

*'  "Where's  Loo?  "  cried  he,  in  a  weak  voice ;  and  then,  be- 
fore we  could  answer,  he  added,  "  Where  's  Hunt?  " 

"'"  Paul  was  here  a  moment  ago;  he'll  be  back  imme- 
diately." 

"  '  He  gave  a  laugh,  —  such  a  laugh  I  hope  never  to  hear 
again.  Cold  as  he  lies  there  now,  that  terrible  grin  is  on  his 
face  yet.  "  You  've  done  it  this  time,  Tom,"  said  he  to  me, 
in  a  whisper.  "  What  do  you  mean?  "  said  I.  "  Death  !  " 
said  he  ;  "  it 's  all  up  with  me,  —  your  time  is  coming."  And 
he  gave  a  ghastly  grin,  sighed,  and  it  was  over.' 

"  We  both  sat  down  on  the  damp  ground,  and  never  spoke 
for  nigh  an  hour.  At  last  Tom  said,  '  We  ought  to  be  back 
in  the  house,  and  trying  to  make  ourselves  useful,  Paul.' 

"  I  arose,  and  walked  after  him.  not  knowing  well  whither 
I  was  going.  When  we  reached  the  little  flower-garden,  we 
could  see  into  the  dining-room.  The  branch  of  wax-candles 
were  still  lighted,  but  burnt  down  very  low.  All  had  left ; 
there  was  nothing  there  but  the  dead  man  sitting  up  in  his 
chaii-,  with  his  eyes  staring,  and  his  chin  fallen.  '  Craven- 
hearted  scoundrels  !  '  cried  Towers.  '  The  last  thing  I  said 
was  to  call  in  the  servants,  and  say  that  their  master  had 
fainted ;  and  see,  they  have  run  away  out  of  sheer  terror. 
Ain't  these  hopeful  fellows  to  go  before  the  coroner's  in- 
quest ? '  I  was  trembling  from  head  to  foot  all  this  while, 
and  had  to  hold  Towers  by  the  arm  to  support  myself. 
'  You  are  not  much  better ! '  said  he,  savagely.  '  Get  to 
bed,  and  take  a  long  sleep,  man.  Lock  your  door,  and  open 
it  to  none  till  I  come  to  you.'  I  staggered  away  as  well  as  I 
could,  and  reached  my  room.  Once  alone  there,  I  fell  on 
my  knees  and  tried  to  pray,  but  I  could  not.  I  could  do 
nothing  but  cry,  —  cry,  as  though  my  heart  would  burst ;  and 
I  fell  off  asleep,  at  last,  with  m}'  head  on  the  bedside,  and 
never  awoke  till  the  next  day  at  noon.  Oh  !  "  cried  he,  in  a 
tone  of  anguish,  "do  not  ask  me  to  recall  more  of  this 
dreadful  story;  I'd  rather  follow  the  others  to  the  scaffold, 
than  I  'd  live  over  again  that  ten-ible  day.  But  you  know 
the  rest, — the  whole  world  knows  it.  It  was  the  'Awful 
Tragedy  in  Jersey  '  of  every  newspaper  of  England  ;  even  to 
the  little  cottage,  in  the  print-shop  windows,  the  curiosity  of 
the  town  was  gratified.     The  Pulpit  employed  the  theme  to 


268  ONE  OF  THEM. 

illustrate  the  life  of  the  debauchee ;  and  the  Stage  repeated 
the  incidents  in  a  melodrama.  With  a  vindictive  inquisitive- 
ness,  too,  the  Press  continued  to  pry  after  each  of  us, 
whither  we  had  gone,  and  what  had  become  of  us.  I  myself, 
at  last,  escaped  further  scrutiny  by  the  accidental  circum- 
stance of  a  pauper,  called  Paul  Hunt,  having  died  in  a  poor- 
house,  furnishing  the  journalist  who  recorded  it  one  more 
occasion  for  moral  reflection  and  eloquence.  Collins  lived, 
I  know  not  how  or  where.  She  sailed  for  Australia,  but  I 
believe  never  went  beyond  the  Cape." 

"  And  you  never  met  her  since?" 

"Never." 

"  Nor  have  you  held  any  correspondence  together?" 

"None,  directly.  I  have  received  some  messages;  one 
to  that  purport  I  have  already  told  you.  Indeed,  it  was  but 
t'  other  day  that  I  knew  for  certain  she  was  in  Europe." 

"  What  was  she  in  appearance,  —  what  style  and  manner  of 
person  ?  " 

"You  shall  guess  before  I  tell  you,"  said  Paten,  smiling 
sadly. 

"  A  dark-eyed,  dark-haired  woman,  —  brunette,  —  tall,  — 
with  a  commanding  look,  —  thin  lips,  —  and  strongly  marked 
chin." 

"  Here,"  said  he,  approaching  the  binnacle  lantern,  and 
holding  out  a  miniature  he  had  drawn  from  his  breast,  — ■ 
•'  here  you  can  recognize  the  accuracy  of  your  description." 

"  But  can  that  be  like  her? " 

"  It  is  herself;  even  the  careless  ease  of  the  attitude,  the 
voluptuous  indolence  of  the  '  pose,'  is  all  her  own." 

"  But  she  is  the  very  type  of  feminine  softness  and  delicacy. 
I  never  saw  eyes  more  full  of  gentle  meaning,  nor  a  mouth 
more  expressive  of  womanly  grace." 

"  There  is  no  flattery  in  the  portrait ;  nay,  it  wants  the 
great  charm  she  excelled  in,  —  that  ever  changeful  look  as 
thoughts  of  joy  or  sadness  would  flash  across  her." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  "  cried  Stocmar.  "  How  hard  it  is  to  con- 
nect this  creatui'e,  as  she  looks  here,  with  such  a  story !  " 

"Ah,  my  friend,  these  have  been  the  cruel  ones,  from 
the  earliest  time  we  hear  of.  The  more  intensely  they  are 
womanly,  the  more  unrelenting  their  nature." 


A  'DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  269 

"  Aud  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  Ludlow?  for  I  own  to  you 
I  think  she  is  a  hard  adversary  to  cope  with." 

"  I  '11  marry  her,  if  she  '11  have  me." 

"  Have  you?     Of  course  she  will." 

''  She  says  not ;  and  she  generally  keeps  her  word." 

"But  why  should  you  wish  to  marry  her,  Ludlow?  You 
have  already  told  me  that  you  know  nothing  of  her  means, 
or  how  she  lives ;  and,  certainly,  the  memories  of  the  past 
give  small  guarantee  for  the  future.  As  for  myself,  I  own 
to  you,  if  there  was  not  another  woman  —  " 

"  Nay,  nay,"  broke  in  Paten,  "  you  have  never  seen  her,  — 
never  spoken  to  her." 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  have  passed  a  life  in 
an  atmosphere  of  mock  fascinations ;  that  tinsel  attractions 
and  counterfeit  graces  would  all  fail  with  me.'' 

"  But  who  says  they  are  factitious?  "  cried  Paten,  angrily. 
"  The  money  that  passes  from  hand  to  hand,  as  current  coin, 
may  have  some  alloy  in  its  composition  a  chemist  might  call 
base,  but  it  will  not  serve  to  stamp  it  as  fraudulent.  I  tell 
you,  Stocmar,  it  is  the  whole  fortune  of  a  man's  life  to  be  as- 
sociated with  such  a  woman.     They  can  mar  or  make  you." 

"  More  likely  the  first,"  muttered  Stocmar.  And  then 
added  aloud,  "  And  as  to  her  fortune,  you  actually  know 
nothing." 

"  Nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  there's  money  somewhere. 
The  girl  or  she,  I  can't  say  which,  has  it." 

"  And  of  course,  in  your  eyes,  it 's  like  a  pool  at  ecarte : 
you  don't  trouble  your  head  who  are  the  contributors?  " 

"  Not  ver}'^  much  if  I  win,  Stocmar !  "  said  he,  resuming  at 
once  all  the  wonted  ease  of  his  jovial  manner. 

Stocmar  walked  the  deck  in  deep  thought.  The  terrible 
tale  he  had  just  heard,  though  not  new  in  all  its  details,  had 
impressed  him  fearfully,  while  at  the  same  time  he  could  not 
conceive  how  a  man  so  burdened  with  a  hoi-rible  past  could 
continue  either  to  enjoy  the  present  or  speculate  on  the  future. 

At  last  he  said,  "  And  have  you  no  dread  of  recognition, 
Ludlow?  Is  the  danger  of  being  known  and  addressed  by 
your  real  name  not  always  uppermost  with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  now.  When  I  first  returned  to  Englaixl,  after 
lea\iug  the  Austrian  service,  I  always  went  about  with  an 


270  ONE   OF  THEM. 

uneasy  impression  upon  me, — a  sort  of  feeling  that  when 
men  looked  at  me  they  were  trying  to  remember  where 
and  when  and  how  they  had  seen  that  face  before ;  but 
up  to  this  none  have  ever  discovered  me,  except  Dell  the 
detective  officer,  whom  I  met  one  night  at  Cremorne,  and 
who  whispered  me  softlj',  '  Happy  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hunt. 
Have  you  been  long  iu  England  ? '  I  affected  at  first  not 
to  understand  him,  and,  touching  his  hat  politelj^,  he  said  : 
'Well,  sir,  —  Jos.  Dell.  If  you  remember,  I  was  there  at 
the  inquest.'  I  invited  him  to  share  a  bottle  of  wine  with 
me  at  once,  and  we  parted  like  old  friends.  By  the  way," 
added  he,  "  there  was  that  old  pyrotechnist  of  yours,  — 
that  drunken  rascal,  —  he  knew  me  too." 

"  Well,  you 're  not  likely  to  be  troubled  with  another 
recognition  from  him,  Ludlow." 

"How  so?     Is  the  fellow  dead?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  've  shipped  him  to  New  York  by  the  '  Persia.' 
Truby,  of  the  Bowery  Theatre,  has  taken  a  three  years'  lease 
of  him,  and  of  course  cocktails  and  juleps  will  shorten  even 
that." 

"  Tluxt  is  a  relief,  by  Jove  !  "  cried  Paten.  "  I  own  to  you, 
Stocmar,  the  thought  of  being  known  by  that  man  lay  like 
a  stone  on  my  heart.  Had  you  any  trouble  in  inducing  him 
to  go?  " 

"  Trouble?  No.  He  went  on  board  drunk  ;  he  '11  be  drunk 
all  the  voyage,  and  he  '11  land  in  America  in  the  same  happy 
state." 

Paten  smiled  pleasantly  at  this  picture  of  beatitude,  and 
smoked  on.  "There's  no  doubt  about  it,  Stocmar,"  said 
he,  sententiously,  "we  all  of  us  do  make  cowards  of  our- 
selves quite  needlessly,  imagining  that  the  world  is  full  of  us, 
canvassing  our  characters  and  scrutinizing  our  actions,  when 
the  same  good  world  is  only  thinking  of  itself  and  its  own 
affairs." 

"  That  is  true  in  part,  Ludlow.  But  let  us  make  ourselves 
foreground  figures,  and,  take  my  word  for  it,  we  '11  not  have 
to  complain  of  want  of  notice." 

Paten  made  a  movement  of  impatience  at  this  speech,  that 
showed  how  little  he  liked  the  sentiment,  and  then  said,  — 

"  There  are  the  lights  of  Ostend.     What  a  capital  passage 


A  "DARK  REMEMBRANCE.  271 

we  have  made !  I  can't  express  to  you,"  said  he,  with  more 
animation,  "  what  a  relief  it  is  to  me  to  feel  myself  on  the 
soil  of  the  Continent.  I  don't  know  how  it  affects  others, 
but  to  me  it  seems  as  if  there  were  greater  scope  and  a  freer 
room  for  a  man's  natural  abilities  there." 

"  I  suppose  you  think  we  are  cursed  with  '  respectability' 
at  home." 

"  The  very  thing  I  mean,"  said  he,  gayly  ;  "  there  's  nothing 
I  detest  like  it." 

"Colonel  Paten,"  cried  the  steward,  collecting  his  fees. 

"Are  you  Colonel?"  asked  Stocmar,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Of  course  I  am,  and  very  modest  not  to  be  Major- 
General.     But  here  we  are,  inside  the  harbor  already." 

Were  we  free  to  take  a  ramble  up  the  Rhine  country,  and 
over  the  Alps  to  Como,  we  might,  perhaps,  follow  the  steps 
of  the  two  travellers  we  have  here  presented  to  our  reader. 
They  were  ultimately  bound  for  Italy,  but  in  no  wise  tied  by 
time  or  route.  In  fact,  Mr.  Stocmar's  object  was  to  seek 
out  some  novelties  for  the  coming  season.  "  Nihil  humanum 
a  me  alienum  puto  "  was  his  maxim.  All  was  acceptable 
that  was  attractive.  He  catered  for  the  most  costly  of  all 
publics,  and  who  will  insist  on  listening  to  the  sweetest  voices 
and  looking  at  the  prettiest  legs  in  Europe.  He  was  on  the 
lookout  for  both.  What  Ludlow  Paten's  object  was  the 
reader  may  perhaps  guess  without  difficulty,  but  there  was 
another  "  transaction  "  in  his  plan  not  so  easily  determined. 
He  had  heard  much  of  Clara  Hawke,  —  to  give  her  her  true 
name,  —  of  her  personal  attractions  and  abilities,  and  he 
wished  Stocmar  to  see  and  pronounce  upon  her.  Although 
he  possessed  no  pretension  to  dispose  of  her  whatever,  he 
held  certain  letters  of  her  supposed  mother  in  his  keeping 
which  gave  him  a  degree  of  power  which  he  believed  irresis- 
tible. Now,  there  is  a  sort  of  limited  liability  slavery  at 
this  moment  recognized  in  Europe,  by  which  theatrical 
managers  obtain  a  lease  of  human  ability,  for  a  certain 
period,  under  nonage,  and  of  which  Paten  desired  to  derive 
profit  by  letting  Clara  out  as  dancer,  singer,  comedian,  or 
"figurante,"  according  to  her  gifts;  and  this,  too,  was  a 
purpose  of  the  present  journey. 

The  painter  or  the  sculptor,  in  search  of  his  model,  has 


272  ONE  OF  THEM. 

no  higher  requirements  than  those  of  form  and  symmetry ; 
he  deals  solely  with  externals,  while  the  impresario  must 
carry  his  investigations  far  beyond  the  category  of  personal 
attractions,  and  soar  into  the  lofty  atmosphere  of  intellectual 
gifts  and  graces,  bearing  along  with  him,  at  the  same  time,  a 
full  knowledge  of  that  public  for  whom  he  is  proceeding ; 
that  fickle,  changeful,  fanciful  public,  who  sometimes,  out  of 
pure  satiety  with  what  is  best,  begin  to  long  for  what  is 
second-rate.  AVhat  consummate  skill  must  be  his  who  thus 
feels  the  pulse  of  fashion,  recognizing  in  its  beat  the  indica- 
tions of  this  or  that  tendency,  whether  "society"  soars  to 
the  classic  "Norma,"  or  descends  to  the  tawdry  vulgarisms 
of  the  "  Traviata  "  !  No  man  ever  accepted  more  implicitly 
than  Mr.  Stocmar  the  adage  of  "  Whatever  is,  is  best." 
The  judgment  of  the  day  with  him  was  absolute.  The 
"  world  "  a  toujours  raison,  was  his  creed.  When  that  world 
pronounced  for  music,  he  cried,  "Long  live  Verdi!"  when 
it  decided  for  the  ballet,  his  toast  was,  "  Legs  against  the 
field !  "  Now,  at  this  precise  moment,  this  same  world  had 
taken  a  turn  for  mere  good  looks,  —  if  it  be  not  heresy  to 
say  "  mere  "  to  such  a  thing  as  beauty,  — and  had  actually 
grown  a  little  wearied  of  roulades  and  pirouettes ;  and  so 
Stocmar  had  come  abroad,  to  see  what  the  great  slave  market 
of  Europe  could  offer  him. 

Let  us  suppose  them,  therefore,  pleasantly  meandering 
along  through  the  Rhineland,  while  we  turn  once  more  to 
those  whom  we  have  left  beyond  the  Alps. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    FRAGMENT    OF    A    LETTER. 

The  following  brief  epistle  from  Mrs.  Morris  to  her  father 
will  save  the  reader  the  tedious  task  of  following  the  Heath- 
cote  family  through  an  uneventful  interval,  and  at  the  same 
time  bring  him  to  that  place  and  period  in  which  we  wish  to 
see  him.     It  is  dated  Hotel  d'ltalie,  Florence  :  — 

"  Dear  Papa,  — You  are  not  to  feel  any  shock  or  alarm  at  the 
black  margin  and  wax  of  this  epistle,  though  its  object  be  to  inform 
you  that  I  am  a  widow,  Captain  Penthony  ]\Iorris  having  died  some 
eight  months  back  in  Upper  India;  but  the  news  has  only  reached 
me  now.  In  a  word,  I  have  thought  it  high  time  to  put  an  end  to 
this  mythical  personage,  whose  cruel  treatment  of  me  I  had  grown 
tired  of  recalling,  and,  I  conclude,  others  of  hstening  to.  Now, 
although  it  may  be  very  hard  on  you  to  go  into  mourning  for  the 
death  of  one  who  never  lived,  yet  I  must  bespeak  your  grief,  in  so 
far  as  stationery  is  concerned,  and  that  you  write  to  me  on  the  most 
woe-be2one  of  cream-laid,  and  with  the  most  sorrow-struck  of  seals. 

"  There  was,  besides,  another  and  most  cogent  reason  for  my 
being  a  widow  just  now.  The  Heathcotes  are  here,  on  their  way 
to  Rome,  and,  like  all  English  people,  eager  to  go  everywhere,  do 
everything,  and  know  everybody ;  the  consequence  is  eternal  junket- 
ing and  daily  dinner-parties.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  in  such  a 
caravanserai  as  this  is,  some  one  would  surely  turn  up  who  should 
recognize  me:  so  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  kill  Captain  M.  and 
go  into  crape  and  seclusion.  As  my  bereavement  is  only  a  sham,  I 
perform  the  affliction  without  difficulty.  Our  mourning,  too,  be- 
comes us,  and,  everything  considered,  the  incident  has  spared  us 
much  sight-seeing  and  many  odious  acquaintances. 

"  As  it  is  highly  important  that  T  should  see  and  consult  you,  you 
must  come  out  here  at  once.  As  the  friend  and  executor  of  poor 
'  dear  Penthony,'  you  can  see  me  freely,  and  T  really  want  your 
advice.  Do  I  understand  you  aright  about  Ludlow?  If  so,  the 
creature  is  a  greater  fool  than  I  thought  him.  ^Marrying  him  is 
purely  out  of  the  question.  Of  all  compacts,  the  connubial  demands 
18 


274  ONE   OF  THEM. 

implicit  credulity ;  and  if  this  poor  man's  tea  were  to  disagree  with 
him,  he  'd  be  screaming  out  for  antidotes  before  the  servants,  and  I 
conclude  that  he  cannot  expect  me  to  believe  in  him.  The  offer  you 
have  made  him  on  my  part  is  a  great  and  brilliant  one,  and,  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  cannot  see  why  he  should  hesitate  about  it,  though  I, 
perhaps,  suspect  it  to  be  this.  Like  most  fast  men,  —  a  very  shallow 
class,  after  all,  —  his  notion  is  that  life,  like  a  whist-party,  requires 
an  accomplice.  Xow,  I  would  beg  him  to  believe  this  is  not  the 
case,  and  that  for  two  people  who  can  play  their  cards  so  well  as  we 
can,  it  is  far  better  to  sit  down  at  separate  tables,  where  no  suspicion 
of  complicity  can  attach  to  us.  I,  at  least,  understand  what  suits 
my  own  interest,  which  is  distinctly  and  emphatically  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  him.  You  say  that  he  threatens,  —  threatens  to  engulf  us 
both.  If  he  were  a  woman,  the  menace  would  frighten  me,  but  men 
are  marvellously  conservative  in  their  selfishness,  and  so  I  read  it  as 
mere  threat. 

"  It  is,  I  will  say,  no  small  infliction  to  carry  all  this  burden  of  the 
past  through  a  present  rugged  enough  with  its  own  difficulties.  To 
feel  that  one  can  be  compromised,  and,  if  compromised,  ruined  at 
any  moment,  —  to  walk  with  a  half-drawn  indictment  over  one,  —  to 
mingle  in  a  world  where  each  fresh  arrival  may  turn  out  accuser,  — 
is  very,  very  wearisome,  and  I  long  for  security.  It  is  for  this 
reason  I  have  decided  on  marrying  Sir  William  instead  of  his  son. 
The  indiscretion  of  a  man  of  his  age  taking  a  wife  of  mine  will 
naturally  lead  to  retirement  and  reclusion  from  the  world,  and  we 
shall  seek  out  some  little  visited  spot  where  no  awkward  memories 
are  like  to  leave  their  cards  on  us.  I  have  resigned  myself  to  so 
much  in  life,  that  I  shall  submit  to  all  this  with  as  good  a  grace  as 
I  have  shown  in  other  sacrifices.  Of  course  L.  can  spoil  this  pro- 
ject, —  he  can  upset  the  boat,  —  but  he  ought  to  remember,  if  he 
does,  that  he  was  never  a  good  swimmer.  Do  try  and  impress  this 
upon  him;  there  are  usually  some  flitting  moments  of  every  day 
when  he  is  capable  of  understanding  a  reason.  Catch  one  of  these, 
dear  pa,  and  profit  by  it.  It  is  by  no  means  certain  that  Miss  L. 
would  accept  him  ;  but,  certainl}-,  smarting  as  she  is  under  all  man- 
ner of  broken  ties,  the  moment  is  favorable,  and  the  stake  a  large 
one.  Nor  is  there  much  time  to  lose,  for  it  seems  that  young 
Heathcote  cannot  persuade  the  Horse  Guards  to  give  him  even  a 
'  Cornetcy,'  and  is  in  despair  how  he  is  to  re-enter  the  service ;  the 
inevitable  consequence  of  which  will  be  a  return  home  here,  and, 
after  a  while,  a  reconciliation.  It  is  only  wise  people  who  ever 
know  that  the  science  of  life  is  opportunity,  everything  being  pos- 
sible at  some  one  moment,  which,  perhaps,  never  recurs  again. 

"  I  scarcely  know  what  to  say  about  Clara.  She  has  lost  her 
spirits,  though  gained  in  looks,  and  she  is  a  perfect  mope,  but  very 


THE   FRAGMENT  OF  A  LETTER.  275 

pretty  withal.  She  fancies  herself  in  love  with  a  young  college  man 
lately  here,  who  won  all  the  disposable  hearts  in  the  place,  and 
might  have  had  a  share  even  in  mine,  if  he  had  asked  for  it.  The 
greater  fool  he  that  he  did  not,  since  he  wanted  exactly  such  guidance 
as  I  could  give  to  open  the  secret  door  of  success  to  him.  By  the 
way,  has  his  father  died,  or  what  has  become  of  him  ?  In  turning 
over  some  papers  t'other  day,  the  name  recurred  with  some  far 
from  pleasant  recollections  associated  with  it.  Scientific  folk  used 
to  tell  us  that  all  the  constituents  of  our  mortal  bodies  became  con- 
sumed every  seven  years  of  life.  And  why,  I  ask,  ought  we  not  to 
start  with  fresh  memories  as  well  as  muscles,  and  ignore  any  past 
beyond  that  short  term  of  existence?  I  am  perfectly  convinced  it 
is  carrying  alone  bygones,  whether  of  events  or  people,  that  con- 
stitutes the  greatest  ill  of  life.  One  so  very  seldom  repents  of 
having  done  wrong,  and  is  so  very,  very  sorry  to  have  lost  many- 
opportunities  of  securing  success,  that  really  the  past  is  aU  sorrow. 

"  You  have  forgotten  to  counsel  me  about  Clara.  The  alternative 
lies  between  the  stage  and  a  convent.  Pray  say  which  of  the  two,  in 
these  changeful  times,  gives  the  best  promise  of  permanence;  and 
believe  me 

"  Your  affectionate  daughter, 

"  Louisa." 


CHAPTER  XXVin. 

THE   O'SHEA   AT   HIS    LODGINGS. 

A  VERY  brief  chapter  will  suffice  to  record  the  doings  of  two 
of  our  characters,  uot  destined  to  perform  very  foreground 
parts  in  the  present  drama.  We  mean  Mr,  O'Shea  and 
Charles  Heathcote.  They  had  established  themselves  in 
lodgings  in  a  certain  locality  called  Manchester  Buildings, 
much  favored  by  some  persons  who  haunt  the  avenues  of 
"  the  House,"  and  are  always  in  search  of  "  our  Borough 
Member."  Neither  the  aspect  of  their  domicile,  nor  their 
style  of  living,  bespoke  flourishing  circumstances,  O'Shea, 
indeed,  had  returned  to  town  in  cash,  but  an  unlucky  night 
at  the  "  Garottoman  "  had  finished  him,  and  he  returned  to 
his  lodgings  one  morning  at  daybreak  two  hundred  and 
seventeen  pounds  worse  than  nothing, 

Heathcote  had  not  played  ;  nay,  he  had  lived  almost  penu- 
riously ;  but  in  a  few  weeks  all  his  resources  were  nigh 
exhausted,  and  no  favorable  change  had  occurred  in  his  for- 
tunes. At  the  Horse  Guards  he  had  been  completely  un- 
successful. He  had  served,  it  is  true,  with  distinction,  but, 
as  he  had  quitted  the  army,  he  could  not  expect  to  be 
restored  to  his  former  rank,  while,  by  the  rules  of  the  ser- 
vice, he  was  too  old  to  enter  as  a  subaltern.  And  thus  a 
trained  soldier,  who  had  won  fame  and  honor  in  two  cam- 
paigns, was,  at  the  age  of  twenty-six,  decided  to  be  super- 
annuated. It  was  the  chance  meeting  of  O'Shea  in  the 
street,  when  this  dilemma  was  mentioned,  that  led  to  their 
ultimate  companionship,  for  the  Member  at  once  swore  to 
bring  the  case  before  the  House,  and  to  make  the  country 
ring  from  end  to  end  with  the  enormity.  Poor  Heathcote, 
friendless  and  alone  at  the  moment,  caught  at  the  promise, 
and  a  few  da^'s  afterwards  saw  them  domesticated  as  chums 
at  No,  — ,  in  the  locality  already  mentioned. 


THE   O'SHEA  AT   HIS  LODGINGS.  277 

"  You'll  have  to  cram  me,  Heathcote,  with  the  whole  case. 
I  must  be  able  to  make  an  effective  speech,  narrating  all  the 
great  exploits  you  have  done,  with  everywhere  you  have  been, 
before  I  come  to  the  grievance,  and  the  motion  for  '  all  the 
correspondence  between  Captain  Heathcote  and  the  author- 
ities at  the  Horse  Guards,  respecting  his  application  to  be 
reinstated  in  the  army.'  I  '11  get  a  special  Tuesday  for  the 
motion,  and  I  '11  have  Howley  in  to  second  me,  and  maybe  we 
won't  shake  the  Treasury  benches !  for  you  see  the  question 
opens  everything  that  ever  was,  or  could  be,  said  about  the 
army.  It  opens  Horse  Guards  cruelty  and  irresponsibility, 
those  Bashi-Bazouks  that  rule  the  service  like  despots;  it 
opens  the  purchase  system  from  end  to  end ;  it  opens  the 
question  of  promotion  by  merit ;  it  opens  the  great  problem 
of  retirement  and  superannuation.  By  my  conscience !  I 
think  I  could  bring  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  into  it,  if  I  was 
vexed." 

The  Member  for  Inch  had  all  that  persuasive  power  a 
ready  tongue  and  an  unscrupulous  temper  supply,  and 
speedily  convinced  the  young  soldier  that  his  case  would  not 
alone  redound  to  his  own  advancement  but  become  a  prece- 
dent, which  should  benefit  hundreds  of  others  equally  badly 
treated  as  himself. 

It  was  while  thus  conning  over  the  project,  O'Shea  men- 
tioned, in  deepest  confidence,  the  means  of  that  extraordinary 
success  which,  he  averred,  had  never  failed  to  attend  all  his 
efforts  in  the  House,  and  this  was,  that  he  never  ventured  on 
one  of  his  grand  displays  without  a  previous  rehearsal  at 
home ;  that  is,  he  assembled  at  his  own  lodgings  a  supper 
company  of  his  most  acute  and  intelligent  friends  —  young 
barristers,  men  engaged  on  the  daily  or  weekly  press  —  the 
smart  squib-writers  and  caricaturists  of  the  day  —  alive  to 
everything  ridiculous,  and  unsparing  in  their  criticism  ;  and 
by  these  was  he  judged  in  a  sort  of  mock  Parliament  formed 
by  themselves.  To  each  of  these  was  allotted  the  character 
of  some  noted  speaker  in  the  House,  who  did  his  best  to  per- 
sonate the  individual  by  every  trait  of  manner,  voice,  and 
action,  while  a  grave,  imposing-looking  man,  named  Doran, 
was  a  capital  counterfeit  of  the  "  Speaker." 

O'Shea  explained  to  Heathcote  that  the  great  advantage 


278  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  this  scheme  consisted  in  the  way  it  secured  one  against 
surprises;  no  possible  interruption  being  omitted,  nor  any 
cavijliug  objection  spared  to  the  orator.  "You'll  see,"  he 
added,  "that  after  sustaining  these  assaults,  the  attack  of 
the  real  fellows  is  only  pastime." 

The  day  being  fixed  on,  the  company,  numbering  nigh 
twenty,  assembled,  and  Charles  Heathcote  could  not  avoid 
observing  that  their  general  air  and  appearance  were  scarcely 
senatorial.  O'Shea  assured  him  gravity  would  soon  succeed 
to  the  supper,  and  dignity  come  in  with  the  whiskey-punch. 
This  was  so  far  borne  out  that  when  the  cloth  was  removed, 
and  a  number  of  glasses  and  bottles  were  distributed  over 
the  blackened  mahogany,  a  grave  and  almost  austere  bearing 
was  at  once  assumed  by  the  meeting.  Doran  also  took  his 
place  as  Speaker,  his  cotton  umbrella  being  laid  before  him 
as  the  mace.  The  orders  of  the  day  were  speedily  disposed 
of,  and  a  few  questions  as  to  the  supply  of  potables  satis- 
factorily answered,  when  O'Shea  arose  to  bring  on  the  case 
of  the  evening,  —  a  motion  "  for  all  the  correspondence  be- 
tween the  authorities  of  the  Horse  Guards  and  Captain 
Heathcote,  respecting  the  application  of  the  latter  to  be 
reinstated  in  the  service." 

The  Secretary-at-War,  a  red-faced,  pimply  man,  sub- 
editor of  a  Sunday  paper,  objected  to  the  production  of  the 
papers ;  and  a  smart  sparring-match  ensued,  in  which  O'Shea 
suffered  rather  heavily,  but  at  last  came  out  victorious,  being 
allowed  to  state  the  grounds  for  his  application. 

O'Shea  began  with  due  solemnity,  modestly  assuring  the 
House  that  he  wished  the  task  had  fallen  to  one  more  com- 
petent than  himself,  and  more  conversant  with  those  profes- 
sional details  which  would  necessarily  occupy  a  large  space 
in  the  narrative. 

"  Surely  the  honorable  member  held  a  commission  in  the 
Clare  Fencibles." 

"  Was  not  the  honorable  member's  father  a  band-master 
in  the  Fifty-fourth  ?  "  cried  another. 

"  To  the  insolent  interruptions  which  have  met  me,"  said 
O'Shea,  indignantly  — 

"  Order  !  order !  " 

"  Am  I  out  of  order,  sir?  "  asked  he  of  the  Speaker. 


THE   O'SHEA   AT   HIS   LODGINGS. 


279 


"  Clearl)'  so,"  replied  that  functionary.  "Every  inter- 
ruption, short  of  a  knock-down,  is  parliamentary." 

"I  bow  to  the  authority  of  the  chair,  and  I  say  that  the 
ruffianly  allusions  of  certaiu  honorable  members  '  pass  by 
me  like  the  idle  wind,  that  I  regard  not.' " 

"  Where  's  that  from  ?  Take  you  two  to  one  in  half-crowns 
you  can't  tell,"  cried  one. 

"Done!"  "Order!  order!"  "Spoke!"  with  cries  of 
"  Go  on  !  "  here  convulsed  the  meeting ;  after  which  O'Shea 
resumed  his  discourse. 


"When,  sir,"  said  he,  "T  undertook  to  bring  under  the 
notice  of  this  House,  and  consequently  before  the  eyes  of 
the  nation,  the  ease  of  a  distinguished  officer,  one  whose 
gallant  services  in  the  tented  field,  whose  glorious  achieve- 
ments before  the  enemy  have  made  his  name  famous  in  all 
the  annals  of  military  distinction,  I  never  anticipated  to  have 
been  met  by  the  howls  of  faction,  or  the  discordant  yells  of 
disappointed  and  disorderly  followers  —  mere  coiulott'iprl  — 
of  the  contemptible  tyrant  who  now  scowls  at  me  from  the 
cross-benches." 

Loud  cheers  of  applause  followed  this  burst  of  indignation. 

An  animated  conversation  now  ensued  as  to  whether  this 


280  ONE   OF  THEM. 

was  strictly  parliamentary;  some  averring  that  they  "had 
heard  worse,"  others  deeming  it  a  shade  too  violent,  O'Shea 
insisting  throughout  that  there  never  was  a  sharp  debate  in 
the  House  without  far  blacker  insinuations,  while  in  the  Irish 
Parliament  such  courtesies  were  continually  interchanged, 
and  very  much  admired. 

"Wasn't  it  Lawrence  Parsons  who  spoke  of  the  'highly 
gifted  blackguard  on  the  other  side?'"  and  "Didn't  John 
Toler  allude  to  the  '  ignorant  and  destitute  spendthrift  who 
now  sat  for  the  beggarly  borough  of  Athlone?'  "  cried  two 
or  three  advocates  of  vigorous  language. 

"There's  worse  in  Homer,"  said  another,  settling  the 
question  on  classical  authority. 

The  discussion  grew  warm.  What  was,  and  what  was 
not,  admissible  in  language  was  eagerly  debated ;  the  inter- 
change of  opinion,  in  a  great  measure,  serving  to  show  that 
there  were  few,  if  any,  freedoms  of  speech  that  might  not  be 
indulged  in.  Indeed,  Heathcote's  astonishment  was  only  at 
the  amount  of  endurance  exhibited  by  each  in  turn,  so  can- 
did were  the  expressions  employed,  so  free  from  all  disguise 
the  depreciatory  sentiments  entertained. 

In  the  midst  of  what  had  now  become  a  complete  uproar, 
and  while  one  of  the  orators,  who  by  dint  of  lungs  had 
overcome  all  competitors,  was  inveighing  against  O'Shea  as 
"  a  traitor  to  his  party,  and  the  scorn  of  every  true  Irish- 
man," a  fresh  arrival,  heated  and  almost  breathless,  rushed 
into  the  room. 

"It's  all  over,"  cried  he;  "the  Government  is  beaten. 
The  House  is  to  be  dissolved  on  Wednesday,  and  the  country 
to  go  to  a  general  election." 

Had  a  shell  fallen  on  the  table,  the  dispersion  could  not 
have  been  more  instantaneous.  Barristers,  reporters,  bor- 
ough agents,  and  penny-a-liners,  all  saw  their  harvest-time 
before  them,  and  hurried  away  to  make  their  engagements; 
and,  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  O'Shea  was  left  alone 
with  his  companion,  Charles  Heathcote. 

"  Here 's  a  shindy !  "  cried  the  ex-M.  P.,  "and  the  devil 
a  chance  I  have  of  getting  in  again,  if  I  can't  raise  five 
hundred  pounds." 

Heathcote  never  spoke,  but  sat  ruminating  over  the  news. 


THE   O'SHEA   AT   HIS  LODGINGS.  281 

"Bad  luck  to  the  Cabinet!"  muttered  O'Shea.  "Why 
would  they  put  that  stupid  clause  iuto  their  Bill?  Could  n't 
they  wait  to  smuggle  it  iu  on  a  committee?  Here  I  am  clean 
ruined  and  undone,  just  as  I  was  on  the  road  to  fame  and 
fortune.  And  I  can't  even  help  a  friend  !  "  said  he,  turning 
a  pitiful  look  at  Heathcote. 

"  Don't  waste  a  thought  about  me ! "  said  Heathcote, 
good-humoredly. 

"  But  I  will !  "  cried  O'Shea.  "  I  '11  go  down  to  the  Horse 
Guards  myself.  Sure  I  'm  forgetting  already,"  added  he, 
with  a  sigh,  "  that  we  're  all  '  out ; '  and  now,  for  a  trifle  of 
five  hundred,  there's  a  fine  chance  lost  as  ever  man  had. 
You  don't  know  anybody  could  accommodate  one  with  a 
loan,  —  of  course,  on  suitable  terms?" 

"  Not  one,  —  not  one  !  " 

"  Or  who'd  do  it  on  a  bill  at  three  months,  with  our  own 
names  ?  " 

"  None!  " 

"Isn't  it  hard,  I  ask,  —  isn't  it  cruel,  —  just  as  I  was 
making  a  figure  in  the  House?  I  was  the  '  rising  man  of  the 
party,'  —  so  the  '  Post '  called  me,  —  and  the  '  Freeman  '  said, 
'  O'Shea  has  only  to  be  prudent,  and  his  success  is  assured.' 
And  was  n't  I  prudent  ?  Did  n't  I  keep  out  of  the  divi- 
sions for  half  the  session  ?  "Who  's  your  father's  banker, 
Heathcote?" 

"  Drummonds,  I  believe  ;   but  I  don't  know  them." 

"  Murther  !  but  it  is  hard  !  five  hundred,  — only  five  hun- 
dred. A  real  true-hearted  patriot,  fresh  for  his  work,  and 
without  engagements,  going  for  five  hundred  !  I  see  you 
feel  for  me,  my  dear  fellow,"  cried  he,  grasping  Heathcote's 
hand.  "  I*  hear  what  your  heart  is  saying  this  minute : 
'  O'Shea,  old  boy,  if  I  had  the  money,  I  'd  put  it  in  the  palm 
of  your  hand  without  the  scratch  of  a  pen  between  us.' " 

"  T  'm  not  quite  so  certain  I  should,"  muttered  the  other, 
half  sulkily. 

"But  I  know  you  better  than  you  know  yourself,  and  I 
repeat  it.  You  'd  say,  '  Gorman  O'Shea,  I  'm  not  the  man  to 
see  a  first-rate  fellow  lost  for  a  beggarly  five  hundred.  I  'd 
rather  be  able  to  say  one  of  these  days,  "  Look  at  that  man 
on  the  Woolsack,  —  or,  maybe,  Chief  Justice  in  the  Queen's 


282  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Bench  —  well,  would  you  believe  it?  if  I  hadn't  helped  him 
one  morning  with  a  few  hundreds,  it 's  maybe  in  the  Serpen- 
tine he  'd  have  been,  instead  of  up  there." '  And  as  we  'd 
sit  over  a  bottle  of  hock  in  the  bay-window  at  Richmond, 
you  'd  say,  '  Does  your  Lordship  remember  the  night  when 
you  heard  the  House  was  up,  and  you  had  n't  as  much  as 
would  pay  your  fare  over  to  Ireland  ? '  " 

"I'm  not  so  certain  of  that,  either,"  was  the  dry  response 
of  Heathcote. 

"And  of  what  are  you  certain,  then?"  cried  O'Shea, 
angrily;  "for  I  begin  to  believe  you  trust  nothing,  nor  any 
one." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I  believe,  and  believe  firmly  too,  — 
which  is,  that  a  pair  of  fellows  so  completely  out  at  elbows 
as  you  and  myself  had  far  better  break  stones  on  a  high- 
road for  a  shilling  a  day  than  stand  cudgelling  their  wits 
how  to  live  upon  others." 

"That  is  not  my  sentiment  at  all, — suum  cuique, — 
stone-breaking  to  the  hard-handed;  men  of  our  stamp, 
Heathcote,  have  a  right  —  a  vested  right  —  to  a  smoother 
existence." 

"Well,  time  will  tell  who  is  right,"  said  Heathcote,  care- 
lessly, as  he  put  on  his  hat  and  walked  to  the  door.  A  half- 
cold  good-bye  followed,  and  they  parted. 

Hour  after  hour  he  walked  the  streets,  unmindful  of  a 
thin  misty  rain  that  fell  unceasingly.  He  was  now  com- 
pletely alone  in  the  world,  and  there  was  a  sort  of  melan- 
choly pleasure  in  the  sense  of  his  desolation.  "  My  poor 
father!"  he  would  mutter  from  time  to  time;  "if  I  could 
only  think  that  he  would  forget  me !  if  I  could  but  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  after  a  time  he  would  cease  to  sorrow 
for  me!  "  He  did  not  dare  to  utter  more,  nor  even  to  himself 
declare  how  valueless  he  deemed  life,  but  strolled  listlessly 
onward,  till  the  gray  streaks  in  the  murky  sky  proclaimed 
the  approach  of  morning. 

Was  it  with  some  vague  purpose  or  was  it  by  mere  acci- 
dent that  he  found  himself  standing  at  last  near  the  barracks 
at  Knightsbridge,  around  the  gate  of  which  a  group  of 
country-looking  young  fellows  was  gathered,  while  here 
and  there  a  sergeant  was  seen  to  hover,  as  if  speculating 


THE   O'SHEA  AT  HIS  LODGINGS.  283 

on  his  prey?  It  was  a  time  in  which  more  than  one  young 
man  of  station  had  enlisted  as  a  private,  and  the  sharp  eye 
of  the  crimp  soon  scanned  the  upright  stature  and  well-knit 
frame  of  Heathcote. 

"Like  to  be  a  dragoon,  my  man?  "  said  he,  with  an  easy, 
swaggering  air. 

"I  have  some  thought  of  it,"  said  the  other,  coldly. 

"You've  served  already,  I  suspect,"  said  the  sergeant,  in 
a  more  respectful  tone. 

"For  what  regiment  are  you  enlisting?  "  asked  Heathcote, 
coldly,  disregarding  the  other's  inquiry. 

"Her  Majesty's  Bays,  —  could  you  ask  better?  But 
here's  my  officer." 

Before  Heathcote  had  well  heard  the  words,  his  name  was 
called  out,  and  a  slight,  boyish  figure  threw  his  arms  about 
him. 

"Charley,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you!  "  cried  he. 

"Agiucourt!  —  is  this  you?"  said  Heathcote,  blushing 
deeply  as  he  spoke. 

"Yes,  I  have  had  my  own  way  at  last;  and  I'm  going  to 
India  too." 

"I  am  not,"  said  Heathcote,  bitterly.  "They  '11  not  have 
me  at  the  Horse  Guards;  I  am  too  old,  or  too  something  or 
other  for  the  service,  and  there  's  nothing  left  me  but  to  enter 
the  ranks." 

"Oh,  Charley,"  cried  the  other,  "if  you  only  knew  of  the 
breaking  heart  you  have  left  behind  you!  —  if  you  only 
knew  how  she  loves  you!  " 

Was  it  that  the  boyish  accents  of  these  few  words  appealed 
to  Heathcote's  heart  with  all  the  simple  force  of  truth?  — 
was  it  that  they  broke  in  upon  his  gloom  so  unexpectedly, 
—  a  slanting  sun-ray  piercing  a  dark  cloud?  But  so  it  is, 
that  he  turned  away,  and  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"I  was  off  for  a  day's  hunting  down  in  Leicestershire," 
said  Agincourt.  "I  sent  the  nags  away  yesterday.  Come 
with  me,  Charley;  we  shall  be  back  again  to-morrow,  and 
you  '11  see  if  my  old  guardian  won't  set  all  straight  with  the 
"War-Office  people  for  you.  Unless,"  added  he,  in  a  half- 
whisper,  "you  choose  in  the  mean  while  to  put  your  trust  in 
what  I  shall  tell  you,  and  go  back  again." 


284  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"I  only  hope  that  I  may  do  so,"  said  Heathcote,  as  he 
wrung  the  other's  hand  warmly,  "and  I'd  bless  the  hour 
that  led  me  here  this  morning," 

It  was  soon  arranged  between  them  that  Agincourt  should 
drive  round  by  Heatheote's  lodgings  and  take  him  up,  when 
he  had  packed  up  a  few  things  for  the  journey.  O'Shea 
was  so  sound  asleep  that  he  could  scarcely  be  awakened  to 
hear  his  companion  say  "good-bye."  Some  vague,  indis- 
tinct idea  floated  before  him  that  Heathcote  had  fallen 
upon  some  good  fortune,  and,  as  he  shook  his  hand,  he 
muttered,  — 

"Go  in  and  win,  old  fellow;  take  all  you  can  get,  clear 
the  beggars  out,  that 's  my  advice  to  you."  And  with 
these  sage  counsels  he  turned  on  his  pillow,  and  snored 
away  once  more. 

"Wasn't  that  Inch-o'-brogue  I  heard  talking  to  you?" 
asked  Agincourt. 

"Yes.  The  poor  fellow,  like  myself,  is  sorely  hard  up 
just  now." 

"  My  old  governor  must  get  him  something.  We  '11  think 
of  him  on  our  return ;  so  jump  in,  Charley,  or  we  shall  be 
late  for  the  train." 

How  contagious  was  that  happy  boy's  good  humor,  and 
how  soon  did  his  light-heartedness  impart  its  own  quality 
to  Heatheote's  spirits.  As  they  whirled  along  through  the 
brisk  fresh  air  of  the  morning,  the  youth  recounted  all  that 
passed  with  him  since  they  met,  —  no  very  great  or  stirring 
events  were  they,  it  is  true,  but  they  were  his,  —  and  they 
were  his  first  experiences  of  dawning  manhood;  and,  oh! 
let  any  of  us,  now  plodding  along  wearily  on  the  shady  side 
of  life,  only  bethink  us  of  the  joyful  sunshine  of  our  youth, 
when  the  most  commonplace  incidents  came  upon  us  with 
freshness,  and  we  gloried  in  the  thought  of  having  a  "part," 
an  actual  character  to  play,  in  that  grand  drama  they  call 
the  World. 

We  would  not,  if  we  could,  recall  his  story ;  we  could  not 
hope  that  our  reader  would  listen  as  pleasurably  as  did 
Heathcote  to  it;  enough  that  we  say  they  never  felt  the 
miles  go  over,  nor,  till  their  journey  was  ended,  had  a 
thought  that  they  were  already  arrived  at  their  destination. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

OLD   LETTERS. 

The  little  cottage  at  Port-na-Whapple,  to  which  Alfred  Lay- 
ton  had  repaired  to  collect  the  last  few  relics  of  his  poor 
mother,  had  so  completely  satisfied  all  his  longings  for 
quiet  seclusion,  that  he  lingered  on  there  in  a  sort  of 
dreamy  abstractedness  far  from  unpleasing.  Quackinboss 
was  with  him,  but  never  was  there  a  companion  less  obtru- 
sive. The  honest  American  delighted  in  the  spot;  he  was 
a  fisherman,  and  soon  became  acquainted  with  all  the  choice 
places  for  the  take  of  salmon,  while  he  oftentimes  strolled 
inland  and  whipped  the  mountain  streams  with  no  small 
success.  In  fact,  the  gun,  the  rod,  and  a  well-trained  grey- 
hound amply  supplied  all  the  demands  of  the  household ;  and 
never  was  there  a  life  less  crossed  by  outward  cares  than 
theirs.  Whether  the  Colonel  believed  or  not  that  Layton 
was  deeply  engaged  in  his  studies,  he  affected  to  think  so, 
and  made  a  point  of  interfering  as  little  as  possible  with  the 
other's  time.  If  by  a  chance  word  now  and  then  he  would 
advert  to  their  projected  trip  to  America,  he  never  pressed 
the  theme,  nor  seemed  in  any  way  to  evince  over-eagerness 
regarding  it.  Indeed,  with  a  delicacy  of  truest  refinement, 
he  abstained  from  making  Layton  ever  feel  himself  con- 
strained by  the  deep  obligations  he  owed  him,  so  that  noth- 
ing could  be  freer  than  their  intercourse;  the  only  theme 
of  gloom  between  them  being  the  fate  of  Layton 's  father, 
of  which,  notwithstanding  all  their  efforts,  they  could 
obtain  no  tidings.  From  the  day  when  he  quitted  the  asy- 
lum, and  was  pronounced  "cured,"  nothing  was  known  of 
him.  Dr.  IMillar  had  assisted  in  all  their  inquiries  with  a 
most  friendly  interest,  and  endeavored  to  induce  Alfred  to 


286  ONE   OF  THEM. 

accept  the  hospitalities  of  the  vicarage;  but  this  he  de- 
clined, making  weak  health  his  apology.  The  vicar,  how- 
ever, did  not  cease  to  show  his  constant  attention,  feeling 
deeply  interested  in  the  youth.  In  nothing  did  he  evince 
this  sentiment  more  than  the  trouble  he  gave  himself  to 
collect  the  scattered  papers  and  documents  of  the  old  Pro- 
fessor. The  old  man  —  accustomed  ever  to  an  existence  of 
emergency  —  was  in  the  habit  of  pledging  his  private  papers 
and  his  own  writings  for  small  sums  here  and  there  through 
the  country ;  and  thus  researches  which  had  cost  months  of 
labor,  investigations  of  deepest  import,  were  oftentimes 
pawned  at  a  public  for  a  few  shillings.  Scarcely  a  day 
went  over  without  some  record  being  brought  in  by  a 
farmer  or  a  small  village  tradesman ;  sometimes  valueless, 
sometimes  of  great  interest.  Now  and  then  they  would  be 
violent  and  rebellious  pasquinades  against  men  in  power, 
—  his  supposed  enemies,  —  versified  slanders  upon  imagi- 
nary oppressors. 

Neither  imbued  with  Alfred's  taste  nor  influenced  by  the 
ties  of  blood,  Quackinboss  took  a  pleasure  in  poring  over 
these  documents  which  the  yonng  man  could  not  feel.  The 
Professor,  to  him,  seemed  the  true  type  of  intellectual 
power,  and  he  had  that  bold  recklessness  of  all  consequences 
which  appealed  strongly  to  the  Yankee.  He  was,  as  he 
phrased  it,  an  "all-mighty  smasher,"  and  would  have  been 
a  rare  man  for  Congress!  All  Alfred's  eagerness  to  possess 
himself  of  his  father's  papers  was  soon  exceeded  by  the 
zeal  of  Quackinboss,  who,  by  degrees,  abandoned  gun  and 
rod  to  follow  out  his  new  pursuit.  If  he  could  not  estimate 
the  value  of  deep  scientific  calculations  and  researches,  he 
was  fully  alive  to  the  sparkling  wit  and  envenomed  satire  of 
the  various  attacks  upon  individuals;  and  so  enamored  was 
he  of  these  effusions,  that  many  of  the  verse  ones  he  had 
committed  to  memory. 

Poor  Alfred!  what  a  struggle  was  his,  as  Quackinboss 
would  recite  some  lines  of  fearful  malignity,  asking  him, 
the  while  "if  all  English  literature  could  show  such  another 
'  'tarnal  screamer  '  as  his  own  parent?  Warn't  he  a  '  right- 
down  scarification  '  ?  Did  n't  he  scald  the  hides  of  them  old 
hogs  in  the  House  of  Lords?     Well,  I  'm  blest  if  Mr.  Clay 


'     OLD  LETTERS.  287 

could  a-done  it  better!  "  To  the  young  man's  mild  sugges- 
tions that  his  father's  fame  would  rest  upon  very  different 
labors,  Quaekiuboss  would  hastily  offer  rejoinder,  ''2so,  sir, 
chemicals  is  all  very  well,  but  human  natur'  is  a  grander 
study  than  acids  and  oxides.  What  goes  on  in  a  man's 
heart  is  a  main  sight  harder  reading  than  salts  and 
sediments." 

The  Colonel  had  learned  in  the  course  of  his  wanderings 
that  a  farmer  who  inhabited  one  of  the  lone  islands  off  the 
coast  was  in  possession  of  an  old  writing-desk  of  the  Pro- 
fessor, —  the  pledge  for  a  loan  of  three  pounds  sterling,  — 
a  sum  so  unusually  large  as  to  imply  that  the  property  was 
estimated  as  of  value.  It  was  some  time  before  the  weather 
admitted  of  a  visit  to  the  spot,  but  late  of  a  summer's  even- 
ing, as  Alfred  sat  musingly  on  the  door-sill  of  the  cottage, 
Quackinboss  was  seen  approaching  with  an  old-fashioned 
writing-desk  under  his  arm,  while  he  called  out,  "Here  it  is; 
and  without  knowin'  the  con-tents,  I  'd  not  swap  the  plunder 
for  a  raft  of  timber !  " 

If  the  moment  of  examining  the  papers  was  longed  for  by 
the  impatient  Quackinboss  with  an  almost  feverish  anxiety, 
what  was  his  blank  disappointment  at  finding  that,  instead 
of  being  the  smart  squibs  or  bitter  invectives  he  delighted 
in,  the  whole  box  was  devoted  to  documents  relating  to  a 
curious  incident  in  medical  jurisprudence,  and  was  labelled 
on  the  inner  side  of  the  lid,  "Hawke's  case,  with  all  the 
tests  and  other  papers." 

"This  seems  to  have  been  a  great  criminal  case,"  said 
Alfred,  "and  it  must  have  deeply  interested  my  father,  for 
he  has  actually  drawn  out  a  narrative  of  the  whole  event, 
and  has  even  journalized  his  share  in  the  story. 

'"Strange  scene  that  I  have  just  left,'  wrote  he,  in  a 
clear,  exact  hand.  '  A  man  very  ill  —  seriously,  danger- 
ously ill  —  in  one  room,  and  a  party  —  his  guests  —  all 
deeply  engaged  at  play  in  the  same  house.  No  apparent  anx- 
iety about  his  case, —  scarcely  an  inquiry;  his  wife  —  if  she 
be  his  wife,  for  I  have  my  misgivings  about  it  —  eager  and 
feverish,  following  me  from  place  to  place,  with  a  sort  of 
irresolute  effort  to  say  something  which  she  has  no  courage 
for.     Patient  worse,  —  the  case  a  puzzling  one ;   there  is 


288  ONE   OF  THEM. 

more  than  delirium  tremens  here.  But  what  more  ?  that 's  the 
question.  Remarkable  his  anxiety  about  the  sense  of  burn- 
ing in  the  throat;  ever  asking,  "Is  that  usual?  is  it  invari- 
able ?  "  Suspicion,  of  course,  to  be  looked  for ;  but  why 
does  it  not  extend  to  me  also?  Afraid  to  drink,  though  his 
thirst  is  excruciating.  Symptoms  all  worse ;  pulse  irregu- 
lar; desires  to  see  me  alone;  his  wife,  unwilling,  tries  by 
many  pretexts  to  remain ;  he  seems  to  detect  her  plan,  and 
bursts  into  violent  passion,  swears  at  her,  and  cries  out, 
"Ain't  you  satisfied  ?     Don't  you  see  that  I  'm  dying  ?  " 

"  '  We  have  been  alone  for  above  an  hour.  He  has  told 
me  all ;  she  is  not  his  wife,  but  the  divorced  wife  of  a  well- 
known  man  in  office.  Believes  she  intended  to  leave  him ; 
knows,  or  fancies  he  knows,  her  whole  project.  Rage  and 
anger  have  increased  the  bad  symptoms,  and  made  him 
much  worse.  Great  anxiety  about  the  fate  of  his  child,  a 
daughter  of  his  former  wife;  constantly  exclaiming,  "They 
will  rob  her!  they  will  leave  her  a  beggar,  and  I  have  none 
to  protect  her."  A  violent  paroxysm  of  pain  —  agonizing 
pain  —  has  left  him  very  low. 

'""What  name  do  you  give  this  malady,  doctor?"  he 
asks  me. 

"  '  "It  is  a  gastric  inflammation,  but  not  unaccompanied 
by  other  symptoms." 

"  '  "How  brought  on?  " 

"  '  "No  man  can  trace  these  affections  to  primary 
causes." 

"'"I  can, — here,  at  least,"  breaks  he  in.  "This  is 
poison,  and  ijou  know  it.  Come,  sir,"  he  cried,  "be  frank 
and  honest  with  one  whose  moments  are  to  be  so  few  here. 
Tell  me,  as  you  would  speak  the  truth  in  your  last  hour,  am 
I  not  right  ?  " 

"  '  "I  cannot  say  with  certainty.  There  are  things  here 
I  am  unable  to  account  for,  and  there  are  traits  which  I 
cannot  refer  to  any  poisonous  agency." 

"'"Think  over  the  poisons;  you  know  best.  Is  it 
arsenic  ?  " 

"  '  "No,  certainly  not." 

"  '  "Nor  henbane,  nor  nicotine,  nor  nitre,  nor  strychnine, 
—  none  of  these?  " 


'    OLD  LETTERS.  289 

"  '  "None." 

"  ' ''HoAv  subtle  the  dogs  have  been!"  muttered  he. 
"What  fools  they  make  of  you,  with  all  your  science!  The 
commonest  mouej^-chauger  will  detect  a  spurious  shilling, 
but  you,  with  all  your  learning,  are  battied  by  every  coun- 
terfeit case  that  meets  you.  P^xamine,  sir;  inquire,  investi- 
gate well,"  he  cried;  "it  is  for  your  honor  as  a  physician 
not  to  blunder  here." 

"'"Be  calm;  compose  yourself.  These  moments  of 
passion  only  waste  your  strength." 

"  '  "Let  me  drink,  —no,  from  the  water-jug;  they  surely 
have  not  drugged  that !     What  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

"  '  "I  was  decanting  the  tea  into  a  small  bottle,  that  I 
might  take  it  home  and  test  it." 

"  '  "And  so,"  said  he,  sighing,  "with  all  your  boasted 
skill,  it  is  only  after  death  you  can  pronounce.  It  is  to  aid 
the  law,  not  to  help  the  living,  you  come.  Be  it  so.  But 
mind,  sir,"  cried  he,  with  a  wild  energy,  "they  are  all  in 
it, —  all.  Let  none  escape.  And  these  were  my  friends!" 
said  he,  with  a  smile  of  inexpressible  sorrow.  "Oh,  what 
friends  are  a  bad  man's  friends!  You  swear  to  me,  doctor, 
if  there  has  been  foul  play  it  shall  be  discovered.  They 
shall  swing  for  it.  Don't  you  screen  them.  No  mumbling, 
sir ;  your  oath,  —  your  solemn  sworn  oath !  Take  those  keys 
and  open  that  drawer  there,  —  no,  the  second  one ;  fetch  me 
the  papers.  This  was  my  will  two  months  ago,"  said  he, 
tearing  open  the  seals  of  an  envelope.  "You  shall  see  with 
3'our  own  eyes  how  I  meant  by  her.  You  will  declare  to  the 
world  how  you  read  in  my  own  hand  that  I  had  left  her 
everj^thing  that  was  not  Clara's  by  right.  Call  her  here; 
send  for  her;  let  her  be  present  while  you  read  it  aloud,  and 
let  her  see  it  burned  afterwards." 

"  '  It  was  long  before  I  could  calm  him  after  this  par- 
oxysm. At  length  he  said:  "What  a  guilty  conscience  will 
be  yours  if  this  crime  pass  unpunished!  " 

"'  "If  there  be  a  crime,  it  shall  not,"  said  I,  firmly. 

"  '  "If  it  were  to  do,"  muttered  he,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  'd 

rather  they  'd  have  shot  me;  these  agonies  are  dreadful,  and 

all  this  lingering  too!     Oh!  could  you  not  hasten  it  now? 

But  not  yet!  "  cried  he,  wildly.     "I  have  to  tell  you  about 

19 


290  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Clara.  They  may  rob  her  of  all  here,  but  she  will  be  rich 
after  all.  There  is  that  great  tract  in  America,  in  Ohio, 
called  '  Peddar's  Clearings;  '  don't  forget  the  name.  Ped- 
dar's  Clearings,  all  hers;  it  was  her  mother's  fortune.  Har- 
vey Wiuthrop,  in  Norfolk,  has  the  titles,  and  is  the  guardian 
when  I  am  dead."  '  " 

"AVhy,  I  know  that  'ere  tract  well;  there's  a  cousin  of 
mine,  Obadiah  B.  Quackinboss,  located  there,  and  there  ain't 
finer  buckwheat  in  all  the  West  than  is  grown  on  that  loca- 
tion.    But  go  on,  let's  hear  about  this  sick  fellow." 

"This  is  an  account  of  chemical  tests,  all  this  here,"  said 
Alfred,  passing  over  several  leaves  of  the  diary.  "It 
seems  to  have  been  a  difficult  investigation,  but  ending  at 
last  in  the  detection  of  corrosive  sublimate." 

"And  it  killed  him?" 

"Yes;  he  died  on  the  third  evening  after  this  was  written. 
Here  follows  the  whole  story  of  the  inquest,  and  a  remark- 
able letter,  too,  signed  '  T.  Towers.'  It  is  addressed  to  my 
father,  and  marked  '  Private  and  Secret ' :  '  The  same  hand 
which  delivers  you  this  will  put  you  in  possession  of  five 
hundred  pounds  sterling ;  and,  in  return,  you  will  do  what- 
ever is  necessary  to  make  all  safe.  There  is  no  evidence, 
except  yours,  of  consequence;  and  all  the  phials  and  bottles 
have  been  already  disposed  of.  Be  cautious,  and  stand  fast 
to  yours,  —  T.  T. '  On  a  slip  wafered  to  this  note  was 
written:  '  I  am  without  twenty  shillings  in  the  world;  my 
shoes  are  falling  to  pieces,  and  my  coat  threadbare ;  but  I 
cannot  do  this.'  But  what  have  we  here?"  cried  Alfred, 
as  a  neatly  folded  note  with  deep  black  margin  met  his  eyes. 
It  was  a  short  and  most  gracefully  worded  epistle  in  a  lady's 
hand,  thanking  Dr.  Layton  for  his  unremitting  kindness  and 
perfect  delicacy  in  a  season  of  unexampled  suffering.  "I 
cannot,"  wrote  she,  "leave  the  island,  dearly  associated  as  it 
is  with  days  of  happiness,  and  now  more  painfully  attached 
to  my  heart  by  the  most  terrible  of  afflictions,  without  ten- 
dering to  the  kindest  of  physicians  my  last  words  of  grati- 
tude." The  whole,  conveyed  in  lines  of  strictly  conven- 
tional use,  gave  no  evidence  of  anything  beyond  a  due  sense 
of  courtesy,  and  the  rigid  observance  of  a  fitting  etiquette. 
It  was  very  polished  in  style,  and  elegant  in  phraseology; 


OLD  LETTERS.  291 

but  to  have  been  written  amid  such  scenes  as  she  then  lived 
in,  it  seemed  a  perfect  marvel  of  unfeeling  conduct. 

"That  'ere  woman  riles  me  con-siderable,"  said  Quackin- 
boss;  "she  doesn't  seem  to  mind,  noways,  what  has  hap- 
pened, and  talks  of  goin'  to  a  new  clearin'  quite  uucou- 
sarned  like.  I  ain't  afraid  of  many  things,  but  I  'm  darned 
extensive  if  1  'd  not  be  afeard  of  her!  What  are  you  a-por- 
ing  over  there?  " 

"It  is  the  handwriting.  I  am  certain  I  have  seen  it  be- 
fore; but  where,  how,  and  when,  I  cannot  bring  to  mind." 

"How  could  you,  sir?  Don't  all  your  womankind  write 
that  sort  of  up-and-down  bristly  hand,  more  like  a  prickl}^- 
pear  fence  than  a  Christian's  writin'?  It's  all  of  a  piece 
with  your  Old- World  civilization,  which  tries  to  make  people 
alike,  as  the  eggs  in  a  basket;  but  they  ain't  like,  for  all 
that.     No,  sir,  nor  will  any  fixin'  make  'em  so!  " 

"I  have  certainly  seen  it  before,"  muttered  Lay  ton  to 
himself. 

"I  'm  main  curious  to  know  how  your  father  found  out  the 
'pyson,'  —  ain't  it  all  there?" 

"Oh,  it  was  a  long  and  very  intricate  chemical  investi- 
gation." 

"Did  he  bile  him?" 

"Boil  him?  No,"  said  he,  with  difficulty  restraining  a 
laugh;  "certainly  not." 

"Well,  they  tell  me,  sir,  there  ain't  no  other  sure  way  to 
discover  it.     They  always  bile  'em  in  France!  " 

"I  am  so  puzzled  by  this  hand,"  muttered  Alfred,  half 
aloud. 

Quackinboss,  equally  deep  in  his  own  speculations,  pro- 
ceeded to  give  an  account  of  the  mode  of  inquiry  pursued 
by  Frenchmen  of  science  in  cases  of  poisoning,  which  cer- 
tainly would  have  astonished  M.  Orfila,  and  was  only 
brought  back  from  this  learned  disquisition  by  Layton's 
questioning  him  about  "Peddar's  Clearings." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  "it  is  con-siderable  of  a  tract,  and 
lies  between  two  rivers.  There  's  the  lines  for  a  new  city 
—  Pentacolis  —  laid  down  there;  and  the  chief  town, 
'  Measles,'  is  a  thriving  location.  My  cousin,  O.  B.  Quack- 
inboss, did  n't  stump  out  less  than  eighty  dollars  an  acre  for 
his  clearin',  and  there's  better  land  than  his  there." 


292  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"So  far  as  appears,  then,  this  is  an  extensive  property 
which  is  spuken  of  here  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  I  expect  it 's  a  matter  of  half  a  million  of  dol- 
lars now,  though,  mayhap,  twenty  thousand  bought  it  fifteen 
or  sixteen  years  back." 

"I  wonder  what  steps  my  father  took  in  this  affair?  I  '11 
be  very  curious  to  know  if  he  interested  himself  in  the  mat- 
ter; for,  with  his  indolent  habits,  it  is  just  as  likely  that  he 
jiever  moved  in  it  further." 

'  "A  'tarual  shame,  then,  for  him,  sir,  when  it  was  for  a 
child  left  alone  and  friendless  in  the  world ;  and  I  'm  thinkin' 
indolence  ain't  the  name  to  give  it." 

For  a  moment  an  angry  impulse  to  reply  stirred  Layton's 
blood,  but  he  refrained,  and  said  nothing. 

"I '11  go  further,"  resumed  the  American,  "and  I'll  say 
that  if  your  father  did  neglect  this  duty,  you  are  bound  to 
look  to  it.  Ay,  sir,  there  ain't  no  ways  in  this  world  of 
getting  out  of  what  we  owe  one  to  another.  We  are  most 
of  us  ready  enough  to  be  '  generous, '  but  few  take  trouble 
to  be  '  just.'  " 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Lay  ton,  reflectively. 

"I  know  it,  sir,  — I  know  it,"  said  the  other,  resolutely. 
"There  's  a  sort  of  flattery  in  doing  something  more  than 
we  are  obliged  to  do  which  never  comes  of  doing  what  is 
strict  fair.  Ay,"  added  he,  after  a  moment,  "and  I  've  seen 
a  man  who  'd  jump  into  the  sea  to  save  a  fellow-creature  as 
would  n't  give  a  cent  to  a  starving  beggar  on  dry  land." 

"I'll  certainly  inquire  after  this  claim,  and  you '11  help 
me,  Quackinboss? " 

"Yes,  sir;  and  there  ain't  no  honester  man  in  all  the 
States  to  deal  with  than  Harvey  Winthrop.  I  was  with  him 
the  day  he  cowhided  Senator  Jared  Boles,  of  Massachusetts, 
and  when  I  observed,  '  I  think  you  have  given  him  enough,' 
he  said,  '  Well,  sir,  though  I  haven't  the  honor  of  knowing 
2/oM,  if  that  be  your  conscientious  opinion,  I'll  abstain  from 
going  further ; '  and  he  did,  and  we  went  into  the  bar  to- 
gether, and  had  a  mint  julep." 

"  The  trait  is  worth  remembering,"  said  Layton,  dryly. 
"Here's  another  reason  to  cross  the  Atlantic,"  cried  he, 
with  something   of   his   former   energy   of  voice  and  look. 


OLD   LETTEKS.      -  293 

"  Here  's  a  great  cause  to  sustain  aud  a  problem  to  work 
out.     ShaU  we  go  at  ouce?" 

"There's  the  '  Asia  '  to  sail  on  Wednesday,  aud  I'm 
ready,"  said  Quackiuboss,  calmly. 

'■'■  Wednesday  be  it,  then,"  cried  Lay  ton,  with  a  gayety 
that  showed  how  the  mere  prospect  of  activity  aud  exer- 
tion had  aheady  cheered  him. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

TWIST,    TROVER,    AND    CO. 

They  whose  notions  of  a  banker  are  formed  on  such  home 
models  as  Overend  and  Gurney  and  Drummond,  and  the 
other  princes  o'  that  ilk,  will  be  probably  not  a  little  shocked 
to  learn  by  what  inferior  dignitaries  the  great  craft  is  repre- 
sented abroad ;  your  English  banker  in  a  foreign  city  being 
the  most  extraordinary  agglomeration  of  all  trades  it  is  well 
possible  to  conceive,  combining  within  himself  very  commonly 
the  duties  of  house-agent,  wine-merchant,  picture-dealer, 
curiosity-vendor,  with  agencies  for  the  sale  of  india-rubber 
shoes,  Cuban  cigars,  and  cod-liver  oil.  He  will,  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice,  start  you  with  a  whole  establishment  from 
kitchen  to  stable,  and,  equally  ready  to  do  the  honors  of 
this  world  or  the  next,  he  will  present  you  in  society,  or 
embalm  you  with  every  careful  direction  for  your  convey- 
ance "homeward."  Well  judging  that  in  dealing  thus 
broadly  with  mankind  a  variety  of  tastes  and  opinions 
must  be  consulted,  they  usually  hunt  in  couples,  one  doing 
the  serious,  the  other  taking  the  light  comedy  parts.  The 
one  is  the  grave,  calm,  sensible  man,  with  his  prudent  reserves 
and  his  cautious  scruples  ;  the  other,  a  careless  dog,  who  only 
"  discounts  "  out  of  fun,  and  charges  you  "  commission"  in 
mere  pastime  and  lightness  of  heart. 

Imagine  the  heavy  father  and  the  light  rake  of  comedy 
conspiring  for  some  common  object,  and  you  have  them. 
Probably  the  division-of-labor  science  never  had  a  happier 
illustration  than  is  presented  by  their  agreement.  Who,  I 
ask  you,  —  who  can  escape  the  double  net  thus  stretched 
for  his  capture  ?  Whatever  your  taste  or  temperament,  you 
must  surely  be  approachable  by  one  or  the  other  of  these. 


TWIST,  TROVER,   AND   CO.  295 

What  Trover  cannot,  Twist  will  he  certain  to  accomplish ; 
where  Twist  fails,  there  Trover  is  sovereign.  "Ah,  you'll 
have  to  ask  my  partner  about  that,"  is  the  stereotyped  saying 
of  each.  It  was  thus  these  kings  of  Brentford  sniffed  at  the 
same  nosegay,  the  world,  and,  sooth  to  say,  to  their  manifest 
self-satisfaction  and  profit.  If  the  compact  worked  well  for 
all  the  purposes  of  catching  clients,  it  was  more  admirable 
still  in  the  difficult  task  of  avoiding  them.  Strange  and 
exceptional  must  his  station  in  life  be  to  whom  the  secret  in- 
telligences of  Twist  or  Trover  could  not  apply.  Were  we 
about  to  dwell  on  these  gentlemen  and  their  characteristics, 
we  might  advert  to  the  curious  fact  that  though  their  common 
system  worked  so  smoothly  and  successfully,  they  each  main- 
tained for  the  other  the  most  disparaging  opinion,  Twist  deem- 
ing Trover  a  light,  thoughtless,  inconsiderate  creature,  Tro- 
ver returning  the  compliment  by  regarding  his  partner  as  a 
bigoted,  low-minded,  vulgar  sort  of  fellow,  useful  behind 
the  desk,  but  with  no  range  of  speculation  or  enterprise  about 
him. 

Our  present  scene  is  laid  at  Mr.  Trover's  villa  near  Flor- 
ence. It  stands  on  the  sunny  slope  of  Fiezole,  and  with  a 
lovely  landscape  of  the  Val  d'  Arno  at  its  feet.  O  ye  gentles, 
who  love  to  live  at  ease,  to  inhale  an  air  odorous  with  the 
jasmine  and  the  orange-flower,  —  to  gaze  on  scenes  more 
beautiful  than  Claude  ever  painted,  —  to  enjoy  days  of 
cloudless  brightness,  and  nights  gorgeous  in  starry  bril- 
liancy, why  do  ye  not  all  come  and  live  at  Fiezole?  Mr. 
Trover's  villa  is  now  to  let,  though  this  announcement  is 
not  inserted  as  an  advertisement.  There  was  a  rumor  that 
it  was  once  Boccaccio's  villa.  Be  that  as  it  may,  it  was  a 
pretty,  coquettish  little  place,  with  a  long  terrace  in  front, 
under  which  ran  an  orangery,  a  sweet,  cool,  shady  retreat 
in  the  hot  noon-time,  with  a  gushing  little  fountain  always 
rippling  and  hissing  among  rock- work.  The  garden  sloped 
away  steeply.  It  was  a  sort  of  wilderness  of  flowers  and 
fruit-trees,  little  cared  for  or  tended,  but  beautiful  in  the 
wild  luxuriance  of  its  varied  foliage,  and  almost  oppres- 
sive in  its  wealth  of  perfume.  Looking  over  this  garden, 
and  beyond  it  again,  catching  the  distant  domes  of  Flor- 
ence,  the  tall  tower  of  the  Palazzo  Vecchio,  and  the  mas- 


296  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Bive  block  of  the  Pitti,  was  a  small  but  well-proportioned 
room  whose  frescos  were  carried  from  wall  to  ceiling  by 
a  gentle  arch  of  the  building,  in  which  were  now  seated 
three  gentlemen  over  their  dessert.  Mr.  Trover's  guests 
were  our  acquaintances  Stocmar  and  Ludlow  Paten.  The 
banker  and  the  "  Impresario "  were  very  old  friends;  they 
had  done  "  no  end  of  shrewd  things  "  together.  Paten  was  a 
new  acquaintance.  Introduced  however  by  Stocmar,  he  was 
at  once  admitted  to  all  the  intimacy  of  his  host,  and  they 
sat  there,  in  the  free  indulgence  of  confidence,  discussing 
people,  characters,  events,  and  probabilities,  as  three  such 
men,  long  case-hardened  with  the  world's  trials,  well  versed 
in  its  wiles,  may  be  supposed  to  do.  Beneath  the  great 
broad  surface  of  this  life  of  ours,  with  its  apparent  im- 
pulses and  motives,  there  is  another  stratum  of  hard  stern 
realities,  in  which  selfish  motives  and  interested  actions 
have  their  sphere.  These  gentlemen  lived  entirely  in  this 
layer,  and  never  condescended  to  allude  to  what  went  on 
elsewhere.  If  they  took  a  very  disparaging  view  of  life, 
it  was  not  so  much  the  admiration  the}^  bestowed  on 
knavery  as  the  hearty  contempt  they  entertained  for  what- 
ever was  generous  or  trustful.  Oh,  how  they  did  laugh  at 
the  poor  "muffs"  who  believed  in  anything  or  any  one! 
To  listen  to  them  was  to  declare  that  there  was  not  a 
good  trait  in  the  heart,  nor  an  honest  sentiment  which 
had  not  its  origin  in  folly.  And  the  stupid  dog  who  paid 
his  father's  debts,  and  the  idiot  that  beggared  himself  to 
portion  his  sisters,  and  the  wretched  creature  who  was 
ruined  by  giving  security  for  his  friend,  all  figured  in  a 
category  despised  and  ridiculed  ! 

"  AVere  they  happy  in  this  theory?  "  you  ask,  perhaps.  It 
is  very  hard  to  answer  the  question.  They  were  undoubtedly 
what  is  called  "jolly;"  they  laughed  much,  and  seemed 
marvellously  free  from  care  and  anxiety. 

"  And  so,  Trover,"  said  Stocmar,  as  he  sipped  his  claret 
luxuriously,  —  "  and  so  you  tell  me  this  is  a  bad  season  with 
you  out  here,  —  few  travellers,  no  residents,  and  little  stirring 
in  the  way  of  discounts  and  circular  notes." 

"  Wretched  !  miserable  !  "  cried  the  banker.  "The  people 
who  come  out  from  England  nowadays  are  mostly  small 


TWIST,  TROVER,   AND   CO, 


297 


twenty-pounders,  looking  sharp  to  the  exchanges,  and 
watching  the  quotations  like  money-brokers." 

"•  Where  are  the  fast  men  all  gone  to?  That  is  a  problem 
puzzles  me  much,"  said  Paten. 

"  They  have  gone  over  to  Puseyism,  and  stained  glass, 
and  Saint  Winifred's  shin-bones,  and  early  Christian  art," 
broke  in  Stocmar.  "I  know  them  well,  and  their  velvet 
paletots  cut  in  the  medieval  fashion,  and  their  hair  cut 
straight  over  the  forehead." 


' '  How  slow  a  place  must  become  with  such  fellows !  " 
sighed  Paten. 

"  The  women  are  mostly  pretty ;  they  dress  with  a  sort  of 
quaint  coquetry  very  attractive,  and  they  have  a  kind  of 
demure  slyness  about  them,  with  a  fascination  all  its  own." 

"  We  have  the  exact  type  you  describe  here  at  this  moment 
now,"  said  the  banker.  "  She  never  goes  into  society,  but 
steals  furtively  about  the  galleries,  making  copies  of  old 
Giottos,  and  such-like,  and  even  penetrating  into  the  monas- 
teries with  a  special  permission  from  the  Cardinal-Secretary 
to  examine  the  frescos," 

"  Is  she  young?     Is  she  pretty?"  asked  Stocmar. 


298  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  She  is  both,  and  a  widow,  I  believe,  — at  least,  her  letters 
come  to  the  bank  addressed  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris." 

Paten  started,  but  a  slight  kick  under  the  table  from  Stoc- 
mar  recalled  him  to  caution  and  self-possession. 

"  Tell  us  more  about  her,  Trover;  all  that  you  know,  in 
fact." 

"  Five  words  will  suffice  for  that.  She  lives  here  with  the 
family  of  a  certain  Sir  William  Heathcote,  and  apparently 
exercises  no  small  influence  amongst  them;  at  least,  the 
tradespeople  tell  me  they  are  referred  to  her  for  everything, 
and  all  the  letters  we  get  about  transfers  of  stock,  and  such- 
like, are  in  her  hand." 

"You  have  met  her,  and  spoken  with  her,  I  suppose?" 
asked  Stocmar. 

"  Only  once.  I  waited  upon  her,  at  her  request,  to  confer 
with  her  about  her  daughter,  whom  she  had  some  intention 
of  placing  at  the  Conservatoire  at  Milan,  as  a  preparation 
for  the  stage,  and  some  one  had  told  her  that  I  knew  all  the 
details  necessary." 

' '  Have  you  seen  the  girl  ?  " 

"Yes,  and  heard  her  sing.  Frightened  enough  she  was, 
poor  thing ;  but  she  has  a  voice  like  Sontag's,  just  a  sort  of 
mellow,  rich  tone  they  run  upon  just  now,  and  with  a  com- 
pass equal  to  Malibran's." 

' '  And  her  look  ?  " 

"Strikingly  handsome.  She  is  very  young;  her  mother 
says  nigh  sixteen,  but  I  should  guess  her  at  under  fifteen 
certainly.  I  thought  at  once  of  writing  to  you,  Stocmar, 
when  I  saw  her.  I  know  how  eagerly  yo^i  snatch  up  such  a 
chance  as  this ;  but  as  you  were  on  your  way  out,  I  deferred 
to  mention  her  till  you  came." 

"  And  what  counsel  did  you  give  her,  Trover?" 

"  I  said,  '  By  all  means  devote  her  to  the  Opera.  It  is  to 
women,  in  our  age,  what  the  career  of  politics  is  to  men,  the 
only  royal  road  to  high  ambition.'  " 

"That  is  what  I  tell  all  my  young  prime  donne,"  said 
Stocmar.  "  I  never  fail  to  remind  them  that  any  debutante 
may  live  to  be  a  duchess." 

"  And  they  believe  you?  "  asked  Paten. 

"  To  be  sure  they  do.     Why,  man,  there  is  an  atmosphere 


TWIST,   TROVER,   AND   CO.  299 

of  credulity  about  a  theatre  that  makes  one  credit  anything, 
except  what  is  palpably  true.  Every  manager  fancies  he  is 
making  a  fortune  ;  every  tenor  imagines  he  is  to  marry  a 
princess ;  and  every  fiddler  in  the  orchestra  firmly  believes 
in  the  time  when  a  breathless  audience  will  be  listening  to 
his  '  solo.' " 

"  I  wish,  with  all  my  heart,  I  was  on  the  stage,  then,"  ex- 
claimed Paten.  "  I  should  certainly  like  to  imbibe  some  of 
this  sanguine  spirit." 

"  You  are  too  old  a  dram-drinker,  Ludlow,  to  be  intoxi- 
cated with  such  light  tipple,"  said  Stocmar.  "  You  have 
tasted  of  the  real  '  tap.' " 

"  That  have  I,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh  that  told  how  intensely 
he  felt  the  words ;  and  then,  as  if  to  overcome  the  sad  im- 
pression, he  asked,  "And  the  girl,  is  she  to  take  to  the 
stage  ?  " 

"  I  believe  Stocmar  will  have  to  decide  the  point ;  at  least, 
I  told  her  mother  that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Italy,  and  that 
his  opinion  on  such  a  matter  might  be  deemed  final.  Our 
friend  here,"  continued  Trover,  as  he  pointed  laughingly  to 
Stocmar,  —  "  our  friend  here  buys  up  these  budding  celebri- 
ties just  as  Anderson  would  a  yearling  colt,  and,  like  him 
too,  would  reckon  himself  well  paid  if  one  succeed  in 
twenty." 

"Ay,  one  in  fifty,  Trover,"  broke  in  Stocmar.  "It  is 
quite  true.  Many  a  stone  does  not  pay  for  the  cutting ;  but 
as  we  always  get  the  lot  cheap,  we  can  afford  to  stand  the 
risk." 

"  She's  a  strange  sort  of  woman,  this  Mrs.  Morris,"  said 
Trover,  after  a  pause,  "  for  she  seems  hesitating  between  the 
Conservatoire  and  a  convent." 

"  Is  the  girl  a  Catholic?  " 

"  No ;  but  her  mother  appears  to  consider  that  as  a  minor 
circumstance ;  in  fact,  she  strikes  me  as  one  of  those  people 
who,  when  they  determine  to  go  to  a  place,  are  certain  to 
cut  out  a  road  for  themselves." 

"  That  she  is  !  "  exclaimed  Paten. 

"  Oh,  then,  you  are  acquainted  with  her?  "  cried  Trover. 

"No,  no,"  said  he,  hurriedly.  "I  was  merely  judging 
from  your  description  of  her.     Such  a  woman  as  you  have 


300  ONE  OF  THEM. 

pictured  I  can  imagine,  just  as  if  I  had  known  her  all  my 
life." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  both  mother  and  daughter,"  broke  in 
Stocmar. 

"  I  fancy  she  will  have  no  objection ;  at  least,  she  said  to 
me,  '  You  will  not  fail  to  inform  me  of  your  friend  Mr. 
Stocmar's  arrival  here ; '  and  I  promised  as  much." 

"  Well,  you  must  arrange  our  meeting  speedily.  Trover, 
for  I  mean  to  be  at  Naples  next  week,  at  Barcelona  and 
Madrid  the  week  after.  The  worthy  Public,  for  whose 
pleasure  I  provide,  will,  above  all  things,  have  novelty,  — 
excellence,  if  you  can,  but  novelty  must  be  procured  them." 

"  Leave  it  to  me,  and  you  shall  have  an  interview  to- 
morrow or  the  day  after." 

A  strange  telegraphic  intelligence  seemed  to  pass  from 
Paten  to  the  manager,  for  Stocmar  quickly  said,  "By  the 
way,  don't  drop  any  hint  that  Paten  is  with  me  ;  he  has  n't 
got  the  best  of  reputations  behind  the  scenes,  and  it  would, 
perhaps,  mar  all  our  arrangements  to  mention  him." 

Trover  put  a  finger  to  his  lips  in  sign  of  secrec3^  and 
said,  "You  are  right  there.  She  repeatedly  questioned 
me  on  the  score  of  your  own  morality,  Stocmar,  expressing 
great  misgivings  about  theatrical  folk  generally." 

"  Take  my  word  for  it,  then,  the  lady  is  a  fast  one  herself," 
said  Stocmar;  "for,  like  the  virtuous  Pangloss,  she  knows 
what  wickedness  is." 

"  It  is  deuced  hard  to  say  what  she  is,"  broke  in  Trover. 
"  My  partner.  Twist,  declares  she  must  have  been  a  stock- 
broker or  a  notary  public.  She  knows  the  whole  share-list 
of  Eui'ope,  and  can  quote  you  the  '  price  current '  of  every 
security  in  the  Old  World  or  the  New ;  not  to  say  that  she 
is  deeply  versed  in  all  the  wily  relations  between  the  course 
of  politics  and  the  exchanges,  and  can  surmise,  to  a  nicety, 
how  every  spoken  word  of  a  minister  can  react  upon  the 
money-market." 

"  She  cannot  have  much  to  do  with  such  interests,  I  take 
it,"  said  Paten,  in  assumed  indifference. 

"Not  upon  her  own  account,  certainly,"  replied  Trover; 
"but  such  is  her  influence  over  this  old  Baronet,  that  she 
persuades  him  to  sell  out  here,  and  buy  in  there,  just  as  the 
mood  inclines  her." 


TWIST,  TROVER,  AND  CO.  301 

"  And  is  he  so  very  rich?"  asked  Stocmar. 

' '  Twist  thiuks  not ;  he  suspects  that  the  money  all  belongs 
to  a  certain  Miss  Leslie,  the  ward  of  Sir  William,  but  who 
came  of  age  a  short  time  back." 

"Now,  what  may  her  fortune  be?"  said  Stocmar,  in  a 
careless  tone ;  "in  round  numbers,  I  mean,  and  not  caring 
for  a  few  thousands  more  or  less." 

"  I  have  no  means  of  knowing.  I  can  only  guess  it  must 
be  very  large.  It  was  only  on  Tuesday  last  she  bought  in 
about  seven-and-twenty  thousand  '  Arkansas  New  Bonds,' 
and  we  have  an  order  this  morning  to  transfer  thkty-two 
thousand  more  into  Illinois  '  Sevens.' " 

"  All  going  to  America!  "  cried  Paten.  "•  Why  does  she 
select  investment  there  ?  " 

"That's  the  widow's  doing.  She  says  that  the  Old 
World  is  going  in  for  a  grand  smash.  That  Louis  Napoleon 
will  soon  have  to  throw  off  the  mask,  and  either  avow  him- 
self the  head  of  the  democracy,  or  brave  its  vengeance,  and 
that  either  declaration  will  be  the  signal  for  a  great  war. 
Then  she  assumes  that  Austria,  pushed  hard  for  means  to 
carry  on  the  struggle,  will  lay  liands  on  the  Church  property 
of  the  empire,  and  in  this  way  outrage  all  the  nobles  whose 
families  were  pensioned  off  on  these  resources,  thus  of  neces- 
sity throwing  herself  on  the  side  of  the  people.  In  a  word, 
she  looks  for  revolution,  convulsion,  and  a  wide-spread  ruin, 
and  says  the  Yankees  are  the  only  people  who  will  escape. 
I  know  little  or  nothing  of  such  matters  myself,  but  she  sent 
Twist  home  t'  other  day  in  such  a  state  of  alarm  that  he  tele- 
graphed to  Turin  to  transfer  all  his  '  Sardinians '  into  '  New 
Yorkers,'  and  has  been  seriously  thinking  of  establishing 
himself  in  Broadway." 

"  I  wish  she  'd  favor  me  with  her  views  about  theatrical 
property,"  said  Stocmar,  with  a  half  sneer,  "and  what  is  to 
become  of  the  Grand  Opera  in  the  grand  smash." 

"Ask  her,  and  she'll  tell  you,"  cried  Trover.  "You'll 
never  pose  her  with  a  difficulty ;  she  "11  give  you  a  plan  for 
paying  off  the  national  debt,  tell  you  how  to  recruit  the 
finances  of  India,  conduct  the  Chinese  war,  or  oppose  French 
intrigues  in  Turkey,  while  she  stitches  away  at  her  Berlin 
work.     I  give  you  my  word,  while  she  was  finishing  off  the 


302  ONE  OF  THEM. 

end  of  an  elephant's  snout  in  brown  worsted,  t'  other  day, 
she  restored  the  Murats  to  Naples,  gave  Sicily  to  Russia, 
and  sent  the  Pope,  as  head  of  a  convict  establishment,  to 
Cayenne." 

"  Is  she  a  little  touched  in  the  upper  story?  "  aslied  Stoe- 
mar,  laying  his  finger  on  his  forehead. 

"  Twist  says  not.  Twist  calls  her  the  wiliest  serpent  he 
ever  saw,  but  not  mad." 

"And  now  a  word  about  the  daughter,"  cried  Stocmar. 
"What's  the  girl  like?" 

"Pretty, — very  pretty;  long  eyelashes,  very  regular 
features,  a  beautiful  figure ;  and  the  richest  auburn  hair  I 
ever  saw,  but,  with  all  that,  none  of  the  mother's  esjyrit,  — 
no  smartness,  no  brilliancy.  In  fact,  I  should  call  her  a 
regular  mope." 

"  She  is  very  young,  remember,"  broke  in  Stocmar. 

"  That 's  true  ;  but  with  such  a  clever  mother,  if  she  really 
had  any  smartness,  it  would  cei-tainly  show  itself.  Now,  it 
is  not  only  that  she  displays  no  evidence  of  superior  mind, 
but  she  wears  an  air  of  depression  and  melancholy  that 
seems  like  a  sort  of  confession  of  her  own  insufficiency, 
so  Twist  says,  and  Twist  is  very  shrewd  as  to  character." 

' '  I  can  answer  for  it,  he 's  devilish  close-fisted  as  to 
money,"  said  Stocmar,  laughing. 

"  I  remember,"  chimed  in  Trover;  "  he  told  me  that  you 
came  into  the  bank  with  such  a  swaggering  air,  and  had 
such  a  profusion  of  gold  chains,  rings,  and  watch-trinkets, 
that  he  set  you  down  for  one  of  the  swell-mob  out  on  a 
tour." 

"Civil,  certainly,"  said  Stocmar,  "but  as  little  flattering 
to  his  own  perspicuity  as  to  myself.  But  I  '11  never  forget 
the  paternal  tone  in  which  he  whispered  me  afterwards, 
'  "Whenever  you  want  a  discount,  Mr.  Stocmar,  from  a 
stranger,  —  an  utter  stranger,  —  don't  wear  an  opal  pin  set 
in  brilliants ;  it  don't  do,  I  assure  you  it  don't.'  "  Stocmar 
gave  such  a  close  imitation  of  the  worthy  banker's  voice  and 
utterance,  that  his  partner  laughed  heartily. 

"  Does  he  ever  give  a  dinner,  Trover?  "  asked  Stocmar. 

"  Oh  yes,  he  gives  one  every  quarter.  Our  graver  clients, 
who  would  not  venture  to  come  up  here,  dine  with  him,  and 


TWIST,  TROVER,  AND   CO.  303 

he  treats  them  to  su-loins  and  saddles,  with  Gordon's  sherry 
and  a  very  fruity  port,  made  especially,  I  believe,  for  men 
with  good  balances  to  their  names." 

"  I  should  like  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  festivals." 
"You  have  no  chance,  Stocmar;  he 'd  as  soon  think  of 
inviting  the  corps  de  ballet  to  tea.     I  myself  am  never  ad- 
mitted to  such  celebrations," 

"  What  rogues  these  fellows  are,  Ludlow !  "  said  Stocmar. 
"  If  you  and  I  were  to  treat  the  world  in  this  fashion,  what 
would  be  said  of  us !  The  real  humbugs  of  this  life  are  the 
fellows  that  play  the  heavy  parts."  And  with  this  reflection, 
whose  image  was  derived  from  his  theatrical  experiences,  he 
arose,  to  take  his  coffee  on  the  terrace. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

IN   THE    TOILS. 

Mrs.  Morris  gave  directions  that  when  a  gentleman  should 
call  to  inquire  for  her  he  should  be  at  once  introduced,  a 
brief  note  from  Mr.  Trover  having  apprised  her  that  Mr. 
Stocmar  had  just  arrived,  and  would  wait  upon  her  without 
further  delay.  There  was  not  in  her  air  or  manner  the 
slightest  trait  of  inquietude  or  even  impatience ;  as  she  sat 
there,  still  stitching  away  at  her  Berlin  elephant,  she  seemed 
an  emblem  of  calm,  peaceful  contentedness.  Her  half- 
mourning,  perhaps,  sobered  down  somewhat  the  character 
of  her  appearance;  but  these  lilac-colored  ribbons  har- 
monized well  with  her  fair  skin,  and  became  her  much. 

With  a  tact  all  her  own,  she  had  carefully  avoided  in  the 
arrangement  of  her  room  any  of  those  little  artistic  effects 
which,  however  successful  with  the  uninitiated,  would  be 
certain  of  a  significant  appreciation  from  one  familiar  with 
stage  "get  up"  and  all  the  suggestive  accessories  of  the 
playhouse.  "No,"  thought  she,  —  "no  half-open  miniatures, 
no  moss-roses  in  Bohemian  glass  —  not  even  a  camellia  — 
on  my  work-table  for  Mr.  Stocmar."  Even  Lila,  her 
Italian  greyhound,  was  dismissed  from  her  accustomed 
cushion  on  that  morning,  lest  her  presence  might  argue 
effect. 

She  knew  well  that  such  men  as  Stocmar  have  a  sort  of 
instinctive  appreciation  of  a  localitj',  and  she  determined 
he  should  have  the  fewest  possible  aids  to  his  interpretation 
of  herself.  If,  at  certain  moments,  a  terrible  dread  would 
cross  her  mind  that  this  man  might  know  all  her  history, 
who  she  was,  and  in  what  events  mixed  up,  she  rallied 
quickly  from  these  fears  by  recalling  how  safe  from  all 
discovery  she  had  lived  for  several  years  back.     Indeed, 


'    IN  THE  TOILS.  305 

personally,  she  was  scarcely  known  at  all,  her  early  married 
life  having  been  passed  in  almost  entire  reclusion;  while, 
later  on,  her  few  acquaintances  were  the  mere  knot  of  men 
in  Hawke's  intimacy. 

There  was  also  another  reflection  that  supplied  its  conso- 
lation: the  Stocmars  of  this  world  are  a  race  familiar  with 
secrets;  their  whole  existence  is  passed  in  hearing  and 
treasuring  up  stories  in  which  honor,  fame,  and  all  future 
happiness  are  often  involved ;  they  are  a  sort  of  lay  priest- 
hood to  the.  "fast"  world,  trusted,  consulted,  and  confided 
in  on  all  sides.  "If  he  should  know  me,"  thought  she,  "it 
is  only  to  make  a  friend  of  him,  and  no  danger  can  come 
from  that  quarter."  Trover's  note  said,  "Mr.  Stocmar 
places  his  services  at  your  feet,  too  proud  if  in  any  way  they 
can  be  useful  to  you ; "  a  mere  phrase,  after  all,  which 
might  mean  much  or  little,  as  it  might  be.  At  the  same 
time  she  bore  in  mind  that  such  men  as  Stocmar  were  as 
little  addicted  to  rash  pledges  as  Cabinet  ministers.  Too 
much  harassed  and  worried  by  solicitation,  they  usually 
screened  themselves  in  polite  generalities,  and  never  incurred 
the  embarrassment  of  promising  anything,  so  that,  thus 
viewed,  perhaps,  he  might  be  supposed  as  well-intentioned 
towards  her. 

Let  us  for  a  moment — a  mere  moment —  turn  to  Stocmar 
himself,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  a  short  garden  alley  of 
Trover's  garden  with  Paten  by  his  side. 

"Above  all  things,  remember,  Stocmar,  believe  nothing  she 
tells  you,  if  she  only  tell  it  earnestly.  Any  little  truth  she 
utters  will  drop  out  unconsciously,  never  with  asseveration." 

"I'm  prepared  for  that,"  replied  he,  curtly. 

"She  '11  try  it  on,  too,  with  fifty  little  feminine  tricks  and 
graces;  and  although  you  may  fancy  you  know  the  whole 
armory,  iKirOi!  she  has  weapons  you  never  dreamed  of." 

"Possibly,"  was  the  only  rejoinder. 

"Once  for  all,"  said  Paten,  —  and  there  was  impatience 
in  his  tone,  — "I  tell  you  she  is  a  greater  actress  than  any 
of  your  tragedy  queens  behind  the  footlights." 

"Don't  you  know  what  Talleyrand  said  to  the  Emperor, 
Ludlow?  '  I  think  your  Majesty  may  safely  rely  upon  me 
for  the  rogueries.'  " 


306  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Pateu  shook  his  head  dissentingly;  he  was  very  far  from 
feeling  the  combat  an  equal  one. 

Stoemar,  however,  reminded  him  that  his  visit  was  to  be 
a  mere  reconnaissance  of  the  enemy,  which  under  no  circum- 
stances was  to  become  a  battle.  "  I  am  about  to  wait  upon 
her  with  reference  to  a  daughter  she  has  some  thoughts  of 
devoting  to  the  stage,  —  voila  tout !  I  never  heard  of  you  in 
my  life, —  never  heard  of  Aer, —  know  absolutely  nothing  of 
her  history,  save  by  that  line  in  the  '  Times  '  newspaper 
some  six  weeks  ago,  which  recorded  the  death  of  Captain 
Penthony  Morris,  by  fever,  in  Upper  India." 

"  That  will  do ;  keep  to  that,"  cried  Paten  more  cheerfully, 
as  he  shook  his  friend's  hand  and  said  good-bye. 

Your  shrewd  men  of  the  world  seldom  like  to  be  told  that 
any  circumstance  can  arise  which  may  put  their  acuteness 
to  the  test;  they  rather  like  to  believe  themselves  always 
prepared  for  every  call  upon  their  astuteness.  Stoemar 
therefoi'e  set  out  in  a  half-irritation,  which  it  took  the  three 
miles  of  his  drive  to  subdue. 

"Mrs.  Penthony  Morris  at  home?"  asked  he  of  the 
discreet-looking  English  servant  whom  Sir  William's  home 
prejudices  justly  preferred  to  the  mongrel  and  moustachioed 
domestics  of  native  breed. 

"At  home  for  Mr.  Stoemar,  sir,"  said  the  man,  half 
inquiring,  as  he  bowed  deferentially,  and  then  led  the  way 
upstairs. 

When  Stoemar  entei-ed  the  room,  he  was  somewhat  disap- 
pointed. Whether  it  was  that  he  expected  to  see  something 
more  stately,  haughty,  and  majestic,  like  Mrs.  Siddous 
herself,  or  that  he  counted  upon  being  received  with  a  cer- 
tain show  of  warmth  and  welcome,  but  the  lady  before  him 
was  slight,  almost  girlish  in  figure,  blushed  a  little  when  he 
addressed  her,  and,  indeed,  seemed  to  feel  the  meeting  as 
awkward  a  thing  as  need  be. 

"I  have  to  thank  you  very  gratefully,  sir,"  began  she,  "for 
condescending  to  spare  me  a  small  portion  of  time  so  valu- 
able as  yours.  Mr.  Trover  says  your  stay  here  will  be  very 
brief." 

"Saturday,  if  I  must,  Friday,  if  I  can,  will  be  the  limit, 
madam,"  said  he,  coldly. 


'  IN  THE  TOLLS.  307 

"Indeed!  "  exclaimed  she.  "I  was  scarcely  prepared  for 
so  short  a  visit;  but  I  am  aware  how  manifold  must  be 
your  engagements." 

"Yes,  madam.  Even  these  seasons,  which  to  the  world 
are  times  of  recreation  and  amusement,  are,  in  reality,  to 
us  periods  of  active  business  occupation.  Only  yesterday 
I  heard  a  barytone  before  breakfast,  listened  to  the  grand 
chorus  in  the  '  Huguenots  '  in  my  bath,  while  I  decided  on 
the  merits  of  a  ballerina  as  I  sat  under  the  hands  of  my 
barber." 

"And,  I  venture  to  say,  liked  it  all,"  said  she,  with  an 
outbreak  of  frank  enjoyment  in  his  description. 

"Upon  my  life,  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  he.  "One 
gets  a  zest  for  a  pursuit  till  everything  else  appears  value- 
less save  the  one  object;  and,  for  my  own  part,  I  acknowl- 
edge I  have  the  same  pride  in  the  success  of  my  new  tenor 
or  my  prima  donna,  as  though  I  had  my  share  in  the  gifts 
which  secure  it." 

"I  can  fancy  all  that,"  said  she,  in  a  low,  soft  voice. 
And  then,  stealing  a  look  of  half  admiration  at  her  visitor, 
she  dropped  her  eyes  again  suddenly,  with  a  slight  show  of 
confusion. 

"I  assure  you,"  continued  he,  with  warmth,  "the  season 
I  brought  out  Cianchettoni,  whenever  he  sang  a  little 
huskily  I  used  to  tell  my  friends  I  was  suffering  with  a 
sore-throat." 

"What  a  deal  of  sympathy  it  betrays  in  your  nature!" 
said  she,  with  a  bewitching  smile.  "And  talking  of  sore- 
throats,  don't  sit  thei-e  in  the  draught,  but  take  this  chair, 
here."     And  she  pointed  to  one  at  her  side. 

As  Stocmar  obeyed,  he  was  struck  by  the  beauty  of  her 
profile.  It  was  singularly  regular,  and  more  youthful  in 
expression  than  her  full  face  He  was  so  conscious  of  hav- 
ing looked  at  her  admiringly  that  he  hastened  to  cover  the 
awkwardness  of  the  moment  by  plunging  at  once  into  the 
question  of  business.  "Trover  has  informed  me,  madam," 
began  he,  "as  to  the  circumstances  in  which  my  very 
humble  services  can  be  made  available  to  you.  He  tells 
me  that  you  have  a  daughter  —  " 

"Not  a  daughter,  sir,"  interrupted  she,  in  a  low,  confiden- 


308  ONE   OF  THEM. 

tial  voice,  "a  niece, — tlie  daughter  of  a  sister  now  no 
more." 

The  agitation  the  words  cost  her  increased  Stocmar's  con- 
fusion, as  though  he  had  evidently  opened  a  subject  of 
family  affliction.  Yes,  her  handkerchief  was  to  her  eyes, 
and  her  shoulders  heaved  convulsively.  "Mr.  Stocmar," 
said  she,  with  an  effort  which  seemed  to  cost  her  deeply, 
"though  we  meet  for  the  first  time,  I  am  no  stranger  to  your 
character.  I  know  your  generosity,  and  your  high  sense  of 
honor.  I  am  well  aware  how  persons  of  the  highest  station 
are  accustomed  to  confide  in  your  integrity,  and  in  that 
secrecy  which  is  the  greatest  test  of  integrity.  I,  a  poor 
friendless  woman,  have  no  claim  to  prefer  to  your  regard, 
except  in  the  story  of  my  misfortunes,  and  which,  in  com- 
passion to  myself,  I  will  spare  you.  If,  however,  you  are 
willing  to  befriend  me  on  trust,  —  that  is,  on  the  faith  that 
I  am  one  not  undeserving  of  your  generosity,  and  entitled  at 
some  future  day  to  justify  my  appeal  to  it,  —  if,  I  say,  you 
be  ready  and  willing  for  this,  say  so,  and  relieve  my  in- 
tense anxiety ;  or  if  —  " 

"Madam!  "  broke  he  in,  warmly,  "do  not  agitate  yourself 
any  more.     I  pledge  myself  to  be  your  friend." 

With  a  bound  she  started  from  her  seat,  and,  seizing  his 
hand,  pressed  it  to  her  lips,  and  then,  as  though  overcome 
by  the  boldness  of  the  action,  she  covered  her  face  and 
sobbed  bitterly.  If  Stocmar  muttered  some  unmeaning 
commonplaces  of  comfort  and  consolation,  he  was  in  reality 
far  more  engrossed  by  contemplating  a  foot  and  ankle  of 
matchless  beauty,  and  which,  in  a  moment  so  unguarded, 
had  become  accidentally  exposed  to  view. 

"I  am,  then,  to  regard  you  as  my  friend?"  said  she,  try- 
ing to  smile  through  her  tears,  while  she  bent  on  him  a  look 
of  softest  meaning.  She  did  not,  however,  prolong  a  situa- 
tion so  critical,  but  at  once,  and  with  an  impetuosity  that 
bespoke  her  intense  anxiety,  burst  out  into  the  story  of  her 
actual  calamities.  Never  was  there  a  narrative  more  diffi- 
cult to  follow ;  broken  at  one  moment  by  bursts  of  sorrow, 
heart-rending  regrets,  or  scarce  less  poignant  expressions 
of  a  resignation  that  savored  of  despair.  There  had  been 
something  very  dreadful,  and  somebody  had  been  terribly 


-    IN  THE  TOILS.  309 

cruel,  and  the  world  —  cold-hearted  and  unkind  as  it  is  — 
had  been  even  unkinder  than  usual.  And  then  she  was  too 
proud  to  stoop  to  this  or  accept  that.  "You  surely  would 
not  have  wished  me  to?"  cried  she,  looking  into  his  eyes 
very  meltiugly.  And  then  there  was  a  loss  of  fortune  some- 
how and  somewhere;  a  story  within  a  story,  like  a  Chinese 
puzzle.  And  there  was  more  cruelty  from  the  world,  and 
more  courage  on  her  part ;  and  then  there  were  years  of  such 
suffering, — years  that  had  so  changed  her.  "Ah!  Mr. 
Stocmar,  you  would  n't  know  me  if  you  had  seen  me  in  those 
days !  "  Then  there  came  another  bewitching  glance  from 
beneath  her  long  eyelashes,  as  with  a  half-sigh  she  said, 
"You  now  know  it  all,  and  wh}^  my  poor  Clara  must  adopt 
the  stage,  for  I  have  concealed  nothing  from  you,  — 
nothing!  " 

"I  am  to  conclude,  then,  madam,"  said  he,  "that  the 
young  lady  herself  has  chosen  this  career?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  my  dear  Mr.  Stocmar.  I  don't 
think  she  ever  read  a  play  in  her  life;  she  has  certainly 
never  seen  one.  Of  the  stage,  and  its  ambitions  and  tri- 
umphs, she  has  not  the  very  vaguest  notion,  nor  do  I  be- 
lieve, if  she  had,  would  anything  in  the  world  induce  her  to 
adopt  it." 

"  This  is  very  strange ;  I  am  afraid  I  scarcely  understand 
you,"  broke  he  in. 

"Very  probably  not,  sir;  but  I  will  endeavor  to  explain 
my  meaning.  From  the  circumstances  I  narrated  to  you 
awhile  ago,  and  from  others  which  it  is  unnecessary  for  me 
to  enter  upon,  I  have  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  Clara 
and  I  must  separate.  She  has  reached  an  age  in  which 
either  her  admissions  or  her  inquiries  might  prove  compro- 
mising. My  object  would  therefore  be  to  part  with  her  in 
such  a  manner  as  might  exclude  our  meeting  again,  and 
my  plan  was  to  enter  her  as  a  pupil  at  the  Conservatoire, 
either  at  Bologna  or  Milan,  having  first  selected  some  one 
who  would  assume  the  office  of  her  guardian,  as  it  were, 
replacing  me  in  my  authority  over  her.  If  her  talents  and 
acquirements  were  such  as  to  suit  the  stage,  I  trusted  to 
the  effect  of  time  and  the  influence  of  companionship  to 
reconcile  her  to  the  project." 


310  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"Aud  may  I  ask,  madam,  have  you  selected  the  person  to 
whom  this  precious  treasure  is  to  be  confided  ?  —  the  guar- 
dian, I  meau." 

"  I  have  seen  him  and  spoken  with  him,  sir,  but  have  not 
yet  asked  his  acceptance  of  the  trust." 

"Shall  I  be  deemed  indiscreet  if  I  inquire  his  name?" 

"By  no  means,  sir.  He  is  a  gentleman  of  well-known 
character  aud  repute,  and  he  is  called  —  Mr.  Stocmar." 

"Surely,  madam,  you  cannot  mean  me  ?  "  cried  he,  with  a 
start. 

"No  other,  sir.  Had  I  the  whole  range  of  mankind  to 
choose  from,  you  would  be  the  man ;  you  embrace  within 
yourself  all  the  conditions  the  project  requires ;  you  possess 
all  the  special  knowledge  of  the  subject;  you  are  a  man  of 
the  world  fully  competent  to  decide  what  should  be  done, 
and  how ;  you  have  the  character  of  being  one  no  stranger 
to  generous  motives,  and  you  can  combine  a  noble  action 
with,  of  course,  a  very  inadequate  but  still  some  personal 
advantage.  This  young  lady  will,  in  short,  be  yours ;  and 
if  her  successes  can  be  inferred  from  her  abilities,  the  bribe 
is  not  despicable." 

"Let  us  be  explicit  and  clear,"  said  Stocmar,  drawing 
his  chair  closer  to  her,  aud  talking  in  a  dry,  business- 
like tone.  "  You  mean  to  constitute  me  as  the  sole  guide 
and  director  of  this  young  lady,  with  full  power  to  direct 
her  studies,  and,  so  to  say,  arbitrate  for  her  future  in 
life." 

"Exactly,"  was  the  calm  reply. 

"And  what  am  I  to  give  in  return,  madam?  What  is  to 
be  the  price  of  such  an  unlooked-for  benefit?  " 

"Secrecy,  sir,  —  inviolable  secrecy, — your  solemnly 
sworn  pledge  that  the  compact  between  us  will  never  be 
divulged  to  any,  even  your  dearest  friend.  When  Clara 
leaves  me,  you  will  bind  yourself  that  she  is  never  to  be 
traced  to  me ;  that  no  clew  shall  ever  be  found  to  connect 
us  one  with  the  other.  With  another  name  who  is  to  know 
her?  " 

Stocmar  gazed  steadfastly  at  her.  Was  it  that  in  a 
moment  of  forgetfulness  she  had  suffered  herself  to  speak 
too   frankly,  for  her  features  had  now  assumed  a  look  of 


-     IN  THE  TOILS.  811 

almost  sternness,  the  very  opposite  to  their  expression 
hitherto. 

"And  can  you  part  with  your  niece  so  easily  as  this, 
madam  ?  "  asked  he. 

"She  is  not  my  niece,  sir,"  broke  she  in,  with  impetu- 
osity ;  "  we  are  on  honor  here,  and  so  I  tell  you  she  is  noth- 
ing —  less  than  nothing  —  to  me.  An  unhappy  event  —  a 
terrible  calamity  —  bound  up  our  lot  for  years  together.  It 
is  a  compact  we  are  each  weary  of,  and  I  have  long  told 
her  that  I  only  await  the  arrival  of  her  guardian  to  relieve 
myself  of  a  charge  which  brings  no  pleasure  to  either  of 
us." 

"You  have  given  me  a  right  to  be  very  candid  with  you, 
madam,"  said  Stocmar.  "May  I  adventure  so  far  as  to 
ask  what  necessity  there  can  possibly  exist  for  such  a  sepa- 
ration as  this  you  now  contemplate?" 

"You  are  evidently  resolved,  sir,  to  avail  yourself  of  3'our 
privilege,"  said  she,  with  a  slight  irritation  of  manner; 
"but  when  people  incur  a  debt,  they  must  compound  for 
being  dunned.  You  desire  to  know  why  1  wish  to  part  with 
this  girl  ?  I  will  tell  you.  I  mean  to  cut  off  all  connection 
with  the  past ;  and  she  belongs  to  it.  I  mean  to  carry  with 
me  no  memories  of  that  time;  and  she  is  one  of  them.  I 
mean  to  disassociate  myself  from  whatever  might  suggest 
a  gloomy  retrospect;  and  this  her  presence  does  continually. 
Perhaps,  too,  I  have  other  plans,  —  plans  so  personal  that 
your  good  breeding  and  good  taste  would  not  permit  you  to 
penetrate." 

Though  the  sarcasm  in  which  these  last  words  were 
uttered  was  of  the  faintest,  Stocmar  felt  it,  and  blushed 
slightly  as  he  said:  "You  do  me  but  justice,  madam.  I 
would  not  presume  so  far!  Now,  as  to  the  question  itself," 
said  he,  after  a  pause,  "it  is  one  requiring  some  time  for 
thought  and  reflection." 

"Which  is  what  it  does  not  admit  of,  sir,"  broke  she  in. 
"It  was  on  Mr.  Trover's  assurance  that  you  were  one  of 
those  who  at  once  can  trust  themselves  to  say  '  I  will,'  or  '  I 
will  not,'  that  I  determined  to  see  you.  If  the  suddenness 
of  the  demand  be  the  occasion  of  any  momentary  incon- 
venience as  to  the  expense,  I  ought  to  mention  that  she  is 


312  ONE  OF  THEM. 

entitled  to  a  few  hundred  pounds,  —  less,  I  think,  than  five, 
—  which,  of  course,  could  be  forthcoming." 

"A  small  consideration,  certainly,  madam,"  said  he, 
bowing,  "but  not  to  be  overlooked."  He  arose  and  walked 
the  room,  as  though  deep  in  thought ;  at  last,  halting  before 
her  chair,  and  fixing  a  steady  but  not  disrespectful  gaze  on 
her,  he  said,  "I  have  but  one  difficulty  in  this  affair, 
madam,  but  yet  it  is  one  which  I  know  not  how  to 
surmount." 

"State  it,  sir,"  said  she,  calmly. 

"It  is  this,  madam:  in  the  most  unhappy  newness  of  our 
acquaintance  I  am  ignorant  of  many  things  which,  however 
anxious  to  know,  I  have  no  distinct  right  to  ask,  so  that  I 
stand  between  the  perils  of  my  ignorance  and  the  greater 
perils  of  possible  presumption." 

"I  declare  to  you  frankly,  sir,  I  cannot  guess  to  what 
you  allude.  If  I  only  surmised  what  these  matters  were,  I 
might  possibly  anticipate  your  desire  to  hear  them." 

"May  I  dare,  then,  to  be  more  explicit?"  asked  he,  half 
timidly. 

"It  is  for  you,  sir,  to  decide  upon  that,"  said  she,  with 
some  haughtiness. 

"Well,  madam,"  said  he,  boldly,  "I  want  to  know  are 
you  a  widow?  " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  she,  with  a  calm  composure. 

"Am  I,  then,  to  believe  that  you  can  act  free  and  uncon- 
trolled, without  fear  of  any  dictation  or  interference  from 
others  ?  " 

"Of  course,  sir." 

"I  mean,  in  short,  madam,  that  none  can  gainsay  any 
rights  you  exercise,  or  revoke  any  acts  you  execute  ?  " 

"Really,  sir,  I  cannot  fancy  any  other  condition  of  exist- 
ence, except  it  be  to  persons  confined  in  an  asylum." 

"Nay,  madam,  you  are  wrong  there,"  said  he,  smiling; 
"the  life  of  every  one  is  a  network  of  obligations  and  ties, 
not  a  whit  the  less  binding  that  they  are  not  engrossed  on 
parchment,  and  attested  by  three  witnesses;  liberty  to  do 
this,  or  to  omit  that,  having  always  some  penalty  as  a 
consequence." 

"Oh,  sir,  spare  me  these  beautiful  moralizings,  which  only 


-    IN  THE  TOILS.  313 

confuse  my  poor  weak  womau's  head,  and  just  say  how  they 
address  themselves  to  me." 

"Thus  far,  madam:  that  your  right  over  the  young  lady 
cannot  be  contested  nor  shared  ?  " 

"Certainly  not.     It  is  with  me  to  decide  for  her." 

"When,  with  your  permission,  I  have  seen  her  and  spoken 
with  her,  if  I  find  that  no  obstacle  presents  itself,  why  then, 
madam,  I  accept  the  charge  —  " 

"And  are  her  guardian,"  broke  she  in.  "Remember,  it  is 
in  that  character  that  you  assume  your  right  over  her.  I 
need  not  tell  a  person  of  such  tact  as  yours  how  necessary 
it  will  be  to  reply  cautiously  and  guardedly  to  all  inquiries, 
from  whatever  quarter  coming,  nor  how  prudent  it  will  be  to 
take  her  away  at  once  from  this." 

"I  will  make  arrangements  this  very  day.  I  will  tele- 
graph to  Milan  at  once,"  said  he. 

"Oh,  dear!  "  sighed  she,  "what  a  moment  of  relief  is  this, 
after  such  a  long,  long  period  of  care  and  anxiety !  " 

The  great  sense  of  relief  implied  in  these  words  scarcely 
seemed  to  have  extended  itself  to  Mr.  Stocmar,  who  walked 
up  and  down  the  room  in  a  state  of  the  deepest  preoccu- 
pation. 

"I  wish  sincerely,"  said  he,  half  in  soliloquy,  —  "I  wish 
sincerely  we  had  a  little  more  time  for  deliberation  here; 
that  we  were  not  so  hurried ;  that,  in  short,  we  had  leisure 
to  examine  this  project  more  fully,  and  at  length." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Stocmar,"  said  she,  blandly,  looking  up 
from  the  embroidery  that  she  had  just  resumed,  "life  is  not 
a  very  fascinating  thing,  taken  at  its  best;  but  what  a 
dreary  affair  it  would  be  if  one  were  to  stop  every  instant 
and  canvass  every  possible  or  impossible  eventuality  of 
the  morrow.  Do  what  we  will,  how  plain  is  it  that  we  can 
prejudge  nothing,  foresee  nothing!  " 

"  Reasonable  precautions,  madam,  are  surely  permissible. 
I  was  just  imagining  to  myself  what  my  position  would  be  if, 
when  this  young  lady  had  developed  great  dramatic  ability 
and  every  requirement  for  theatrical  success,  some  relative 
— some  fiftieth  cousin  if  you  like,  but  some  one  with  claim 
of  kindred  —  should  step  forward  and  demand  her.  What 
becomes  of  all  my  rights  in  such  a  case?  " 


314  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Let  me  put  another  issue,  sir.  Let  me  suppose  some- 
body arriving  at  Dover  or  P'olkestone,  calling  himself 
Charles  Stuart,  and  averring  that,  as  the  legitimate  descend- 
ant of  that  House,  he  was  the  rightful  King  of  England. 
Do  you  really  believe  that  her  Majesty  would  immediately 
place  Windsor  at  his  disposal;  or  don't  you  sincerely  sup- 
pose that  the  complicated  question  would  be  solved  by  the 
nearest  policeman?" 

'"But  she  might  marry,  madam?  " 

"With  her  guardian's  consent,  of  course,"  said  she,  with 
a  demure  coquetry  of  look  and  manner.  "I  trust  she  has 
been  too  well  brought  up,  Mr.  Stocmar,  to  make  any  risk  of 
disobedience  possible." 

"Yes,  yes,"  muttered  he,  half  impatiently,  "it's  all  very 
well  to  talk  of  guardians'  consent;  but  so  long  as  she  can 
say,  '  How  did  you  become  my  guardian?  What  authority 
made  you  such?  When,  where,  and  by  whom  con- 
ferred ? '  —  " 

"My  dear  Mr.  Stocmar,  your  ingenuity  has  conjured  up 
an  Equity  lawyer  instead  of  an  artless  girl  not  sixteen 
years  of  age!  Do,  pray,  explain  to  me  how,  with  a  mind 
80  prone  to  anticipate  difficulties,  and  so  rife  to  coin  objec- 
tions, —  how,  in  the  name  of  all  that  is  wonderful,  do  you 
ever  get  through  the  immense  mass  of  complicated  affairs 
your  theatrical  life  must  present?  If,  before  you  engage  a 
prima  donna,  you  are  obliged  to  trace  her  parentage  through 
three  generations  back,  to  scrutinize  her  baptismal  registry 
and  her  mother's  marriage  certificate,  all  I  can  say  is  that 
a  prime  minister's  duties  must  be  light  holiday  work  com- 
pared with  the  cares  of  yonr  lot." 

"My  investigations  are  not  carried  exactly  so  far  as  you 
have  depicted  them,"  said  he,  good-humoi-edly ;  "but, 
surely,  I  'm  not  too  exacting  if  I  say  I  should  like  some 
guarantee." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Stocmar,"  said  she,  interrupt- 
ing him  with  a  laugh,  "but  may  I  ask  if  you  are  married?" 

"No,  madam.     I  am  a  bachelor." 

"You  probably  intend,  however,  at  some  future  time  to 
change  your  state.  I  'm  certain  you  don't  mean  to  pass 
all  your  life  in  the  egotism  of  celibacy." 


••      IN  THE  TOILS.  315 

"Possibly  not,  madam.  I  will  not  say  that  I  am  beyond 
the  age  of  being  fascinated  or  being  foolish." 

"Just  what  I  mean,  sir.  Well,  surely,  in  such  a  contin- 
gency, you  'd  not  require  the  lady  to  give  you  what  you 
have  just  called  a  guarantee  that  she  'd  not  run  away  from 
you?" 

"My  trust  in  her  would  be  that  guarantee,  madam." 

"Extend  the  same  benevolent  sentiment  to  me,  sir.  Trust 
me.  I  ask  for  no  more."  And  she  said  this  with  a  witch- 
ery of  look  and  manner  that  made  Mr.  Stocmar  feel  very 
happy  and  very  miserable,  twice  over,  within  the  space 
of  a  single  minute. 

Poor  Mr.  Stocmar,  what  has  become  of  all  your  caution, 
all  yom-  craft,  and  all  the  counsels  so  lately  given  you? 
Where  are  they  now?  Where  is  that  armor  of  distrust  in 
which  you  were  to  resist  the  barbed  arrow  of  the  enchan- 
tress? Trust  her!  It  was  not  to  be  thought  of,  and  yet  it 
was  exactly  the  very  thing  to  be  done,  in  spite  of  all 
thought  and  in  defiance  of  all  reason. 

And  so  the  "Stocmar"  three-decker  struck  her  flag,  and 
the  ensign  of  the  fast  frigate  floated  from  her  masthead ! 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

A   DRIVE   ROUND    THE    CASCINE   AT   FLORENCE. 

"Here's  another  note  for  you,  Stocmar,"  said  Paten,  half 
peevishly,  as  they  both  sat  at  breakfast  at  the  Hotel  d'ltalie, 
and  the  waiter  entered  with  a  letter.  "  That 's  the  third  from 
her  this  morning." 

"  The  second, —  only  the  second,  on  honor,"  said  he,  break- 
ing the  seal,  and  running  his  eye  over  the  contents.  "  It 
seems  she  cannot  see  me  to-day.  The  Heathcote  family  are 
all  in  grief  and  confusion ;  some  smash  in  America  has  in- 
volved them  in  heavy  loss.  Trover,  you  may  remember,  was 
in  a  fright  about  it  last  night.  She  '11  meet  me,  however, 
at  the  masked  ball  to-night,  where  we  can  confer  together. 
She  's  to  steal  out  unperceived,  and  I'm  to  recognize  her  by 
a  yellow  domino  with  a  little  tricolored  cross  on  the  sleeve. 
Don't  be  jealous,  Ludlow,  though  it  does  look  suspicious." 

"Jealous!  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  other,  insolently. 

"  Come,  come,  you  '11  not  pretend  to  say  she  is  n't  worth 
it,  Ludlow,  nor  you  '11  not  affect  to  be  indifferent  to  her." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  I  teas  indifferent  to  her;  next  to 
having  never  met  her,  it  would  be  the  best  thing  I  know  of," 
said  he,  rising,  and  walking  the  room  with  hurried  steps. 
"  I  tell  you,  Stocmar,  if  ever  there  was  an  evil  destiny,  I 
believe  that  woman  to  be  mine.  I  don't  think  I  love  her,  I 
cannot  say  to  my  own  heart  that  I  do,  and  yet  thei-e  she  is, 
mistress  of  my  fate,  to  make  me  or  mar  me,  just  as  she 
pleases." 

"Which  means,  simply,  that  you  are  madly  in  love  with 
her,"  said  Stocmar. 

"  No  such  thing ;  I  'd  do  far  more  to  injure  than  to  serve 
her  this  minute.     If  I  never  closed  my  eyes  last  night,  it  was 


A  DRIVE  ROIIND  THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.      317 

plotting  how  to  overreach  her,  —  how  I  should  wreck  her 
whole  fortune  in  life,  and  leave  her  as  destitute  as  I  am 
myself." 

"The  sentiment  is  certainly  amiable,"  said  Stocmar, 
smiling. 

"  I  make  no  pretence  to  generosity  about  her,"  said  Paten, 
sternly;  "nor  is  it  between  men  like  you  and  myself  fine 
sentiments  are  bandied." 

"  Fine  sentiments  are  one  thing,  master,  an  unreasonable 
antipathy  is  another,"  said  Stocmar.  "And  it  would  cer- 
tainly be  too  hard  if  we  were  to  pursue  with  our  hatred  every 
woman  that  could  not  love  us." 

"  She  did  love  me  once,  — at  least,  she  said  so,"  broke  in 
Paten. 

"Be  grateful,  therefore,  for  the  past.  I  know  /'d  be 
very  much  her  debtor  for  any  show  of  present  tenderness, 
and  give  it  under  my  hand  never  to  bear  the  slightest  malice 
whenever  it  pleased  her  to  change  her  mind." 

"By  Heaven!  Stocmar,"  cried  Paten,  passionately,  "I 
begin  to  believe  you  have  been  playing  me  false  all  this  time, 
telling  her  all  about  me,  and  only  thinking  of  how  to  advance 
your  own  interests  with  her." 

"  You  wrong  me  egregiously,  then,"  said  Stocmar,  calmly. 
"  I  am  ready  to  pledge  you  my  word  of  honor  that  I  never 
uttered  your  name,  nor  made  a  single  allusion  to  you  in  any 
way.     Will  that  satisfy  you?  " 

"  It  ought,"  muttered  he,  gloomily;  "  but  suspicions  and 
distnists  spring  up  in  a  mind  like  mine  just  as  weeds  do  in  a 
rank  soil.     Don't  be  angry  with  me,  old  fellow." 

"  I  'm  not  angry  with  you,  Ludlow,  except  in  so  far  as  you 
wrong  yourself.  Why,  my  dear  boy,  the  pursuit  of  a  foolish 
spite  is  like  going  after  a  bad  debt.  All  the  mischief  you 
could  possibly  wish  this  poor  woman  could  never  repay 
yon.'" 

"How  can  you  know  that  without  feeling  as  I  feel?" 
retorted  he,  bitterly.  "  If  I  were  to  show  you  her  letters," 
began  he ;  and  then,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  ignoble  menace, 
he  stopped  and  was  silent. 

"  Why  not  think  seriously  of  this  heiress  she  speaks  of? 
I  saw  her  yesterday  as  she  came  back   from   riding ;  her 


318  ONE  OF  THEM. 

carriage  was  awaiting  her  at  the  Piazza  del  Popolo,  and 
there  was  actually  a  little  crowd  gathered  to  see  her  alight." 

"  Is  she  so  handsome,  then?  "  asked  he,  half  listlessly. 

"  She  is  beautiful ;  I  doubt  if  I  ever  saw  as  lovely  a  face 
or  as  graceful  a  figure." 

"  I  '11  wager  my  head  on 't,  Loo  is  handsomer  ;  I  '11  engage 
to  thrust  my  hand  into  the  fire  if  Loo's  foot  is  not  infinitely 
more  beautiful." 

"  She  has  a  wonderfully  handsome  foot,  indeed,"  muttered 
Stocmar. 

"  And  so  you  have  seen  it,"  said  Paten,  sarcastically.  "  I 
wish  you  'd  be  frank  with  me,  and  say  how  far  the  flirtation 
went  between  you." 

"  Not  half  so  far  as  I  wished  it,  my  boy.  That's  all  the 
satisfaction  you'll  get  from  me." 

This  was  said  with  a  certain  irritation  of  manner  that  for 
a  while  imposed  silence  upon  each. 

"  Have  you  got  a  cheroot?"  asked  Paten,  after  a  while; 
and  the  other  flung  his  cigar-case  across  the  table  without 
speaking. 

"  I  ordered  that  fellow  in  Geneva  to  send  me  two  thou- 
sand," said  Paten,  laughing  ;  "  but  I  begin  to  suspect  he  had 
exactly  as  many  reasons  for  not  executing  the  order." 

"  Marry  that  girl,  Ludlow,  and  you  '11  get  your  'bacco,  1 
promise  you,"  said  Stocmar,  gayly. 

"  That's  all  easy  talking,  my  good  fellow,  but  these  things 
require  time,  opportunity,  and  pursuit.  Now,  who  's  to  in- 
sure me  that  they  'd  not  find  out  all  about  me  in  the  mean 
while  ?  A  woman  does  n't  marry  a  man  with  as  little  solici- 
tation as  she  waltzes  with  him,  and  people  in  real  life  don't 
contract  matrimony  as  they  do  in  the  third  act  of  a  comic 
opera." 

"  Faith,  as  regards  obstacles,  I  back  the  stage  to  have  the 
worst  of  it,"  broke  in  Stocmar.  "But  whose  cab  is  this  in. 
such  tremendous  haste,  —  Trover's?  And  coming  up  here 
too?     What's  in  the  wind  now?" 

He  had  but  finished  these  words  when  Trover  rushed  into 
the  room,  his  face  pale  as  death,  and  his  lips  colorless. 

"  What 's  up  ?  —  what 's  the  matter,  man  ?  "  cried  Stocmar. 

"Ruin's  the  matter  —  a  general  smash  in  America  —  all 


A  DKIYE  ROUND  THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.      319 

securities    discredited  —  bills    dishonored  —  and    universal 
failure." 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  the  Yankees,"  said  Paten,  light- 
ing his  cigar  coolly. 

A  look  of  anger  and  insufferable  contempt  was  all  Trover's 
reply. 

"  Are  you  deep  with  them?"  asked  Stocmar,  in  a  whisper 
to  the  banker. 

"Over  head  and  ears,"  muttered  the  other;  "we  have 
been  discounting  their  paper  freely  all  through  the  winter, 
till  our  drawers  are  choke-full  of  their  acceptances,  not  one 
of  which  would  now  realize  a  dollar." 

' '  How  did  the  news  come  ?  Are  you  sure  of  its  being 
authentic?  " 

"Too  sure;  it  came  in  a  despatch  to  Mrs.  Morris  from 
London.  All  the  investments  she  has  been  making  lately 
for  the  Heathcotes  are  clean  swept  away ;  a  matter  of  sixty 
thousand  pounds  not  worth  as  many  penny-pieces." 

"  The  fortune  of  Miss  Leslie?"  asked  Stocmar. 

"Yes;  she  can  stand  it,  I  fancy,  but  it's  a  heavy  blow 
too." 

"  Has  she  heard  the  news  yet?" 

"  No,  nor  Sir  William  either.  The  widow  cautioned  me 
strictly  not  to  say  a  word  about  it.  Of  course,  it  will  be  all 
over  the  city  in  an  hour  or  so,  from  other  sources." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do,  then?  " 

"  Twist  is  trying  to  convert  some  of  our  paper  into  cash, 
at  a  heavy  sacrifice.  If  he  succeed,  we  can  stand  it ;  if  not, 
we  must  bolt  to-night."  He  paused  for  a  few  seconds,  and 
then,  in  a  lower  whisper,  said,  "  Is  n't  she  game,  that  widow? 
What  do  you  think  she  said?  '  This  is  mere  panic.  Trover,' 
said  she  ;  '  it 's  a  Yankee  roguery,  and  nothing  more.  If  I 
could  command  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  this  minute,  I  'd 
invest  every  shilling  of  it  in  their  paper ;  and  if  May  Leslie 
will  let  me,  you  '11  see  whether  I  '11  be  true  to  my  word.' " 

"It's  easy  enough  to  play  a  bold  game  on  one's  neigh- 
bor's money,"  said  Stocmar. 

"  She'd  have  the  same  pluck  if  it  were  her  own,  or  I  mis- 
take her  much.  Has  he  got  any  disposable  cash?"  whis- 
pered Trover,  with  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  towards  Paten. 


320  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  Not  a  sixpence  in  the  world." 

"  What  a  situation !  "  said  Trover,  in  a  whisper,  trem- 
bling with  agitation.  "Oh,  there's  Heatheote's  brougham, 
—  stopping  here  too !  See !  that 's  Mrs.  Morris,  giving  some 
directions  to  the  servant.     She  wants  to  see  you,  I'm  sure." 

Stocmar,  making  a  sign  to  Trover  to  keep  Paten  in  con- 
versation, hurried  from  the  room  just  in  time  to  meet  the 
footman  in  the  corridor.  It  was,  as  the  banker  supposed, 
a  request  that  Mr.  Stocmar  would  favor  her  with  "  one 
minute  "  at  the  door.  She  lifted  her  veil  as  he  came  up  to 
the  window  of  the  carriage,  and  in  her  sweetest  of  accents 
said,  — 

"  Can  you  take  a  turn  with  me?     I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

He  was  speedily  beside  her ;  and  away  they  di'ove,  the 
coachman  having  received  orders  to  make  one  turn  of  the 
Cascine,  and  back  to  the  hotel. 

"I'm  deep  in  affairs  this  morning,  my  dear  Mr.  Stocmar," 
began  she,  as  they  drove  rapidly  along,  "and  have  to  be- 
speak your  kind  aid  to  befriend  me.  You  have  not  seen 
Clara  yet,  and  consequently  are  unable  to  pronounce  upon 
her  merits  in  any  way,  but  events  have  occurred  which 
require  that  she  should  be  immediately  provided  for.  Could 
you,  by  any  possibility,  assume  the  charge  of  her  to-day,  — 
this  evening?  I  mean,  so  far  as  to  convey  her  to  Milan,  and 
place  her  at  the  Conservatoire." 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Morris,  there  is  an  arrangement  to  be 
fulfilled,  —  there  is  a  preliminary  to  be  settled.  No  young 
ladies  are  received  there  without  certain  stipulations  made 
and  complied  with." 

"  All  have  been  provided  for ;  she  is  admitted  as  the  ward 
of  Mr.  Stocmar.  Here  is  the  document,  and  here  the  amount 
of  the  first  half-year's  pension." 

"  '  Clara  Stocmar,'  "  read  he.  "  Well,  I  must  say,  madam, 
this  is  going  rather  far." 

"  You  shall  not  be  ashamed  of  your  niece,  sir,"  said  she, 
"  or  else  I  mistake  greatly  your  feeling  for  her  aunt."  Oh  ! 
Mr.  Stocmar,  how  is  it  that  all  your  behind-scene  experi- 
ences have  not  hardened  you  against  such  a  glance  as  that 
which  has  now  set  your  heart  a-beating  within  that  embroi- 
dered waistcoat?     "My  dear  Mr.  Stocmar,"  she  went  on, 


A  DRIVE  ROUND  THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.      321 

"  if  the  world  has  taught  me  any  lesson,  it  has  been  to  know, 
by  an  instinct  that  never  deceives,  the  men  I  can  dare  to 
confide  in.  You  had  not  crossed  the  room,  where  I  received 
you,  till  I  felt  you  to  be  such.  I  said  to  myself,  '  Here  is 
one  who  will  not  want  to  make  love  to  me,  who  will  not 
break  out  into  wild  rhapsodies  of  passion  and  professions, 
but  who  will  at  once  understand  that  I  need  his  friendship 
and  his  counsel,  and  that'" —  hei'e  she  dropped  her  eyes, 
and,  gently  suffering  her  hand  to  touch  his,  muttered,  "  and 
that  I  can  estimate  their  value,  and  try  to  repay  it."  Poor 
Mr.  Stocmar,  your  breathing  is  more  flurried  than  ever.  So 
agitated,  indeed,  was  he,  that  it  was  some  seconds  ere  he  be- 
came conscious  that  she  had  entered  upon  a  narrative  for 
which  she  had  bespoken  his  attention,  and  whose  details  he 
only  caught  some  time  after  their  commencement.  "  You 
thus  perceive,  sir,"  said  she,  "  the  great  importance  of  time 
in  this  affair.  Sir  William  is  confined  to  his  room  with  gout, 
in  considerable  pain,  and,  naturally  enough,  far  too  much 
engrossed  by  his  sufferings  to  think  of  anything  else ;  Miss 
Leslie  has  her  own  preoccupations,  and,  though  the  loss  of 
a  large  sum  of  mone}'  may  not  much  increase  them,  the 
disaster  will  certainly  serve  to  engage  her  attention.  This 
is  precisely  the  moment  to  get  rid  of  Clara  with  the  least 
possible  eeldt  :  we  shall  all  be  in  such  a  state  of  confusion 
that  her  departure  will  scarcely  be  felt  or  noticed." 

"Upon  my  life,  madam,"  said  Stocmar,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  "•  you  frighten  —  j^ou  actually  terrify  me  ;  you  go  to 
every  object  j'ou  have  in  view  with  such  energy  and  decision, 
noting  every  chance  circumstance  which  favors  you,  so 
nicely  balancing  motives,  and  weighing  probabilities  with 
such  cool  accuracy,  that  I  feel  how  we  men  are  mere 
puppets,  to  be  moved  about  the  board  at  your  will." 

"  And  for  what  is  the  game  played,  my  dear  Mr.  Stoc- 
mar? "  said  she,  with  a  seductive  smile.  "Is  it  not  to  win 
some  one  amongst  you  ?  " 

"Oh,  by  Jove!  if  a  man  could  only  flatter  himself  that 
be  held  the  right  number,  the  lottery  would  be  glorious 
sport." 

"  If  the  prize  be  such  as  you  say,  is  not  the  chance  worth 
something?"  And  these  words  were  uttered  with  a  down- 
21 


322  ONE   OF   THEM. 

cast  shyness  that  made  every  syllable  of  them  thrill  within 
him. 

"  What  does  she  mean?"  thought  he,  in  all  the  flurry  of 
his  excited  feelings.  "  Is  she  merely  playing  me  off  to  make 
use  of  me,  or  am  I  to  believe  that  she  really  will  —  after  all? 
Though  I  confess  to  thirty-eight  —  I  am  actually  no  more 
than  forty-two  —  only  a  little  bald  and  gray  in  the  whiskers, 
and  —  confound  it,  she  guesses  what  is  passing  through  my 
head.  — What  are  you  laughing  at;  do,  1  beg  of  you,  tell  me 
truly  what  it  is?  "  cried  he,  aloud. 

"I  was  thinking  of  an  absurd  analogy,  Mr.  Stocmar; 
some  African  traveller  —  I  'm  not  sure  that  it  is  not  Mungo 
Park  —  mentions  that  he  used  to  estimate  the  depth  of  the 
rivers  by  throwing  stones  into  them,  and  watching  the  time 
it  took  for  the  air  bubbles  to  come  up  to  the  surface.  Now, 
I  was  just  fancying  what  a  measure  of  human  motives  might 
be  fashioned  out  of  the  interval  of  silence  which  intervenes 
between  some  new  impression  and  the  acknowledgment  of  it. 
You  were  gravely  and  seriously  asking  yourself,  '  Am  I  in 
love  with  this  woman  ? '  " 

"  I  was,"  said  he,  solemnly. 

"  I  knew  it,"  said  she,  laughing.     "  I  knew  it." 

"And  what  was  the  answer  —  do  you  know  that  too?" 
asked  he,  almost  sternly. 

"Yes,  the  answer  was  somewhat  in  this  shape:  'I  don't 
half  trust  her ! '  " 

They  both  laughed  very  joyously  after  this,  Stocmar  break- 
ing out  into  a  second  laugh  after  he  had  finished. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Stocmar,"  cried  she,  suddenly,  and  with  an 
impetuosity  that  seemed  beyond  her  control,  "  I  have  no 
need  of  a  declaration  on  your  part.  I  can  read  what  passes 
in  your  heart  by  what  I  feel  in  my  own.  We  have  each  of 
us  seen  that  much  of  life  to  make  us  afraid  of  rash  ventures. 
We  want  better  security  for  our  investments  in  affection  than 
we  used  to  do  once  on  a  time,  not  alone  because  we  have 
seen  so  many  failures,  but  that  our  disposable  capital  is  less. 
Come  now,  be  frank,  and  tell  me  one  thing,  —  not  that  I  have 
a  doubt  about  it,  but  that  I  'd  like  to  hear  it  from  yourself,  — 
confess  honestly,  you  know  who  I  am  and  all  about  me?" 

So  sudden  and  so  unexpected  was  this  bold  speech,  that 


A  DRIVE  ROUND  THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.      323 

Stocmar,  well  versed  as  he  was  in  situations  of  difficulty, 
felt  actually  overcome  with  confusion ;  he  tried  to  say  some- 
thing, but  could  only  make  an  indistinct  muttering,  and  was 
silent. 

"  It  required  no  skill  on  my  part  to  see  it,"  continued  she. 
"Men  so  well  acquainted  with  life  as  you,  such  consummate 
tacticians  in  the  world's  strategies,  only  make  one  blunder  , 
but  you  all  of  you  make  that :  you  always  exhibit  in  some 
nameless  little  trait  of  manner  a  sense  of  ascendancy  over  the 
woman  you  deem  in  your  power.  You  can't  help  it.  It  's 
not  through  tyranny,  it's  not  through  insolence,  — it  is  just 
the  man-nature  in  you,  that 's  all." 

"  If  you  read  us  truly,  you  read  us  harshly  too,"  began  he. 
But  she  cut  him  short,  by  asking,  — 

"  And  who  was  your  informant?     Paten,  was  n't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  heard  everything  from  him"  said  he,  calmly. 

"  And  my  letters —  have  you  read  them  too?  " 

"  No.  I  have  heard  him  allude  to  them,  but  never  saw 
them." 

"  So,  then,  there  is  some  baseness  yet  left  for  him,"  said 
she,  bitterly,  "  and  I'm  almost  sorry  for  it.  Do  you  know, 
or  will  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  it,  that,  after  a  life  with 
many  reverses  and  much  to  grieve  over,  my  heaviest  heart- 
sore  was  ever  having  known  that  man  ?  " 

"  You  surely  cared  for  him  once?  " 

"  Never,  never  !  "  burst  she  out,  violently.  "  When  we  met 
first,  I  was  the  daily  victim  of  more  cruelties  than  might  have 
crushed  a  dozen  women.  His  pity  was  very  precious,  and  I 
felt  towards  him  as  that  poor  prisoner  we  read  of  felt  towards 
the  toad  that  shared  his  dungeon.  It  was  one  living  thing  to 
sympathize  with,  and  I  could  not  afford  to  relinquish  it,  and 
so  I  wrote  all  manner  of  things,  —  love-letters  I  suppose  the 
world  would  call  them,  though  some  one  or  two  might  per- 
haps decipher  the  mystery  of  their  meaning,  and  see  in  them 
all  the  misery  of  a  hopeless  woman's  heart.  No  matter,  such 
as  they  were,  they  were  confessions  wrung  out  by  the  rack, 
and  need  not  have  been  recorded  as  calm  avowals,  still  less 
treasured  up  as  bonds  to  be  paid  off." 

"  Rut  if  you  made  him  love  you  —  " 

"  Made  him  love  me !  "  repeated  she,  with  insolent  scorn ; 


324  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  how  well  you  kuow  your  friend  !  But  even  he  never  pre- 
tended that.  My  letters  in  his  eyes  were  I  O  U's,  and  no 
more.  Like  many  a  one  in  distress,  I  promised  any  rate  of 
interest  demanded  of  me ;  he  saw  my  misery,  and  dictated 
the  terms." 

"  I  think  you  judge  him  hardly." 

"  Perhaps  so.  It  is  little  matter  now.  The  question  is, 
will  he  give  up  these  letters,  and  on  what  conditions?" 

*'  I  think  if  3'ou  were  yourself  to  see  him  —  " 

^'  /  to  see  him  !  Never,  never  !  There  is  no  consequence 
I  would  not  accept  rather  than  meet  that  man  again." 

"  Are  you  not  taking  counsel  from  passion  rather  than 
your  real  interest  here  ?  " 

"  I  may  be;  but  passion  is  the  stronger.  What  sum  in 
money  do  you  suppose  he  would  take  ?  I  can  command  nigh 
seven  hundred  pounds.     Would  that  suffice  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  even  guess  this  point ;  but  if  you  like  to  confide 
to  me  the  negotiation  —  " 

"Is  it  not  in  your  hands  already?"  asked  she,  bluntly. 
"  Have  you  not  come  out  here  for  the  purpose?  " 

"  No,  on  my  honor,"  said  he,  solemnly ;  "  for  once  you 
are  mistaken." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it.  I  had  hoped  for  a  speedier  settle- 
ment," said  she,  coldly.  "And  so,  you  really  came  abroad 
in  search  of  theatrical  novelties.  Oh  dear !  "  sighed  she, 
' '  Trover  said  so ;  and  it  is  so  confounding  when  any  one 
tells  the  truth  !  " 

She  paused,  and  there  was  a  silence  of  some  minutes.  At 
last  she  said  :  ' '  Clara  disposed  of,  and  these  letters  in  my 
possession,  and  I  should  feel  like  one  saved  from  shipwreck. 
Do  you  think  you  could  promise  me  these,  Mr.  Stocmar?" 

"  I  see  no  reason  to  despair  of  either,"  said  he ;  "  for  the 
first  I  have  pledged  myself,  and  I  will  certainly  do  all  in  my 
power  for  the  second." 

"  You  must,  then,  make  me  another  promise  :  you  must 
come  back  here  for  my  wedding." 

"  Your  wedding  !  " 

"  Yes.  I  am  going  to  marry  Sir  William  Heathcote,"  said 
she,  sighing  heavily.  "  His  debts  prevent  him  ever  return- 
ing  to  England,  and  consequently  I  run   the  less  risk    of 


A  DRIVE  ROUND  THE  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.       325 

being  inquired  after  and  traced,  than  if  I  were  to  go  back 
to  tliat  dear  land  of  perquisition  and  persecution." 

"  The  world  is  very  small  nowadays,"  muttered  Stocmar. 
"People  are  known  everywhere." 

"  So  they  are,"  said  she,  quickly.  "  But  on  the  Continent, 
or  at  least  in  Italy,  the  detectives  only  give  you  a  nod  of 
recognition ;  they  do  not  follow  you  with  a  warrant,  as 
they  do  at  home.     This  makes  a  great  difference,  sir." 

"And  can  you  really  resign  yourself,  at  your  age  and 
with  your  attractions,  to  retire  from  the  world  ?"  said  he, 
with  a  deep  earnestness  of  manner. 


"  Not  without  regret,  Mr.  Stocmar.  I  will  not  pretend  it. 
But  remember,  what  would  life  be  if  passed  upon  a  tight- 
rope, always  poising,  always  balancing,  never  a  moment 
without  the  dread  of  a  fall,  never  a  second  without  the  con- 
sciousness that  the  slightest  divergence  might  be  death ! 
"Would  you  counsel  me  to  face  an  existence  like  this?  Re- 
member, besides,  that  in  the  world  we  live  in,  they  who 
wreck  character  are  not  the  calumnious,  they  are  simply  the 
idle,  —  the  men  and  women  who,  having  nothing  to  do,  do 
mischief  without  knowing.  One  remarks  that  nobody  in  the 
room  knew  that  woman  with  the  blue  wreath  in  her  hair,  and 


326  ONE   OF  THEM. 

at  ouce  she  becomes  an  object  of  interest.  Some  of  the  men 
have  aduured  her ;  the  women  have  discovered  innumerable 
blemishes  in  her  appearance.  She  becomes  at  once  a  topic 
and  a  theme,  —  where  she  goes,  what  she  wears,  whom  she 
speaks  to,  are  all  reported,  till  at  length  the  man  who  can 
give  the  clew  to  the  mystery  and  '  tell  all  about  her '  is  a 
public  benefactor.  At  what  dinner-party  is  he  not  the  guest  ? 
—  what  opera-box  is  denied  him  ?  —  where  is  the  coterie  so 
select  at  which  his  presence  is  not  welcome  so  long  as  the 
subject  is  a  fresh  one?  They  tell  us  that  society,  like  the 
Church,  must  have  its  '  autos  da  fe,'  but  one  would  rather 
not  be  the  victim." 

Stocmar  gave  a  sigh  that  seemed  to  imply  assent. 

"  And  so,"  said  she,  with  a  deeper  sigh,  "  I  take  a  hus- 
band, as  others  take  the  veil,  for  the  sake  of  oblivion." 

While  she  said  this,  Stocmar's  eyes  were  turned  towards 
her  with  a  most  unfeigned  admiration.  He  felt  as  he  might 
have  done  if  a  great  actress  were  to  relinquish  the  stage  in 
the  climax  of  her  greatest  success.  He  wished  he  could 
summon  courage  to  say,  "  You  shall  not  do  so ;  there  are 
grander  triumphs  before  you,  and  we  will  share  them  to- 
gether ;  "  but  somehow  his  "  nerve  "  failed  him,  and  he  could 
not  utter  the  words. 

"I  see  what  is  passing  in  your  heart,  Mr.  Stocmar,"  said 
she,  plaintively.  "  You  are  sorry  for  me,  —  you  pity  me,  — 
but  you  can't  help  it.  Well,  that  sympathy  will  be  my  com- 
fort many  a  day  hence,  when  you  will  have  utterly  forgotten 
me.  I  will  think  over  it  and  treasure  it  when  many  a  long 
mile  will  separate  us." 

Mr.  Stocmar  went  through  another  paroxysm  of  tempta- 
tion. At  last  he  said,  "  I  hope  this  Sir  William  Heathcote 
is  worthy  of  you,  —  I  do  trust  he  loves  you." 

She  held  her  handkerchief  over  her  face,  but  her  shoulders 
moved  convulsively  for  some  seconds.  Was  it  grief  or 
laughter?  Stocmar  evidently  thought  the  former,  for  he 
quickly  said,  "I  have  been  very  bold, — very  indiscreet. 
Pray  foi'give  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  do  forgive  you,"  said  she,  hurriedly,  and  with 
her  head  averted.  "  It  was  ????/  fault,  not  yo^irs.  But  here 
we  are  at  your  hotel,  and  I  have  got  so  much  to  say  to  you ! 


A  DRIVE  R0U?:D  the  CASCINE  AT  FLORENCE.     327 

Remember  we  meet  to-night  at  the  ball.  You  will  know  me 
by  the  cross  of  ribbon  on  my  sleeve,  which,  if  you  come  in 
domino,  you  will  take  off  and  pin  upon  your  own  ;  this  will 
be  the  signal  between  us." 

"  I  will  not  forget  it,"  said  he,  kissing  her  hand  with  an 
air  of  devotion  as  he  said  "  Good-bye !  " 

"  I  saw  her !  "  whispered  a  voice  in  his  ear.  He  turned  ; 
and  Paten,  whose  face  was  deeply  muffled  in  a  coarse  woollen 
wrapper,  was  beside  him. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SIR   WILLIAM    IN    THE    GOUT. 

Sir  "William  Heathcote  in  his  dressing-room,  wrapped  up 
with  rugs,  and  his  foot  on  a  stool,  looked  as  little  like  a 
bridegroom  as  need  be.  He  was  suffering  severely  from 
gout,  and  in  all  the  irritable  excitement  of  that  painful 
malady. 

A  mass  of  unopened  letters  lay  on  the  table  beside  him, 
littered  as  it  was  with  physic  bottles,  pill-boxes,  and  a  small 
hand-bell.  On  the  carpet  around  him  lay  the  newspapers 
and  reviews,  newly  arrived,  but  all  indignantly  thrown  aside, 
uncared  for  by  one  too  deeply  engaged  in  his  sufferings  to 
waste  a  thought  upon  the  interests  of  the  world. 

"Not  come  in  yet,  Fentou?"  cried  he,  angrily,  to  his 
servant.  "  I  'm  certain  you  're  mistaken  ;  go  and  inquire  of 
her  maid." 

"I  have  just  asked  mamselle,  sir,  and  she  says  her  mis- 
tress is  still  out  driving." 

"  Give  me  my  colchicum ;  no,  the  other  bottle,  —  that 
small  phial.  But  you  can't  drop  them.  There,  leave  it 
down,  and  send  Miss  Leslie  here." 

"She  is  at  the  Gallery,  sir." 

"Of  course  she  is,"  muttered  he,  angrily,  below  his 
breath;  "gadding,  like  the  rest.  Is  there  no  one  can  meas- 
ure out  my  medicine?     Where  's  Miss  Clara?  " 

"She's  in  the  drawing-room,  sir." 

"Send  her  here;  beg  her  to  do  me  the  favor,"  cried  he, 
subduing  the  irritation  of  his  manner,  as  he  wiped  his  fore- 
head, and  tried  to  seem  calm  and  collected. 

"Did  you  want  me,  grandpapa?"  said  the  young  girl, 
entering,  and  addressing  him  by  the  title  she  had  one  day 


SIR  WILLIAM  IN  THE   GOUT.  329 

given  him  in  sportiveness,  and  which  he  liked  to  be  called 

by. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  roughly,  for  his  pain  was  again  upon  him. 
*'I  wanted  any  one  that  would  be  humane  enough  to  sit 
with  me  for  a  while.  Are  you  steady  enough  of  hand  to 
drop  that  medicine  for  me,  child?" 

"I  think  so,"  said  she,  smiling  gently. 

"But  you  must  be  certain,  or  it  won't  do.  I  'd  not  like 
to  be  poisoned,  my  good  girl.  Five-and-twenty  drops,  — 
no  more." 

"I  '11  count  them,  sir,  and  be  most  careful,"  said  she, 
rising,  and  taking  the  bottle. 

"Egad,  I  scarcely  fancy  trusting  you,"  said  he,  half 
peevishly.  "A  giddy  thing  like  you  would  feel  little 
remorse  at  having  overdone  the  dose." 

"Oh,  grandpapa!" 

"Oh,  of  course  you  'd  not  do  it  purposely.  But  why  am  I 
left  to  such  chances  ?  Why  is  n't  your  mother  here?  There 
are  all  my  letters,  besides,  unread;  and  they  cannot,  if  need 
were,  be  answered  by  this  post." 

"She  said  that  she  'd  be  obliged  to  call  at  the  bank  this 
morning,  sir,  and  was  very  likely  to  be  delayed  there  for  a 
considerable  time." 

"■  I  'm  sure  I  cannot  guess  why.  It  is  Trover  and  Twist 's 
duty  to  attend  to  her  at  once.  They  would  not  presume  to 
detain  her.  Oh !  here  comes  the  pain  again !  Why  do  you 
irritate  me,  child,  by  these  remarks?  Can't  you  see  how 
they  distress  me  ?  " 

"Dear  grandpapa,  how  sorry  I  am!  Let  me  give  you 
these  drops." 

"Not  for  the  world!  No,  no,  I  '11  not  be  accessary  to  my 
own  death.  If  it  come,  it  shall  come  at  its  own  time. 
There,  I  am  not  angry  with  you,  child;  don't  get  so  pale; 
sit  down  here,  beside  me.  What 's  all  this  story  about  your 
guardian?  I  heard  it  so  confusedly  last  night,  during  an 
attack  of  pain,  I  can  make  nothing  of  it." 

"I  scarcely  know  more  of  it  myself,  sir.  All  I  do  know 
is  that  he  has  come  out  from  England  to  take  me  awa}'  with 
him,  and  place  me,  mamma  says,  at  some  Pensionnat." 

"No,  no;  this  mustn't  be, — this  is  impossible!      You 


330  ONE   OF  THEM. 

beloug  to  us,  dear  Clara.  I  '11  not  permit  it.  Yo«r  poor 
mamma  would  be  heart-broken  to  lose  you." 

Clara  turned  away,  and  wiped  two  large  tears  from  her 
eyes ;  her  lips  trembled  so  that  she  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"No,  no,"  continued  he;  "a  guardian  is  all  very  well,  but 
a  mother's  rights  are  very  different,  — and  such  a  mother  as 
yours,  Clara!  Oh!  by  Jove!  that  was  a  pang!  Give  me 
that  toast-and-water,  child !  " 

It  was  with  a  rude  impatience  he  seized  the  glass  from 
her  hand,  and  drank  off  the  contents.  "This  pain  makes 
one  a  downright  savage,  my  poor  Clara,"  said  he,  patting 
her  cheek,  "but  old  grandpapa  will  not  be  such  a  bear 
to-morrow." 

"To-morrow,  when  I'm  gone!"  muttered  she,  half 
dreamily. 

"Aud  his  name?     What  is  it?" 

"Stocmar,  sir." 

"  Stocmar,  —  Stocmar  ?  never  heard  of  a  Stocmar,  except 
that  theatrical  fellow  near  St.  James's.  Have  you  seen 
him,   child  ?  " 

"No,  sir.     I  was  out  walking  when  he  called." 

"Well,  do  the  same  to-morrow,"  cried  he,  peevishly,  for 
another  twitch  of  gout  had  just  crossed  him.  "It's  always 
so,"  muttered  he;  "every  annoyance  of  life  lies  in  wait  for 
the  moment  a  man  is  laid  up  with  gout,  just  as  if  the  con- 
founded malady  were  not  torture  enough  by  itself.  There  's 
Charley  going  out  as  a  volunteer  to  India,  for  what  or  why 
no  one  can  say.  If  there  had  been  some  insurmountable 
obstacle  to  his  marriage  with  May,  he  'd  have  remained  to 
overcome  it;  but  because  he  loves  her,  and  that  she  likes 
him  —  By  Jove,  that  was  a  pang!  "  cried  he,  wiping  his 
forehead,  after  a  terrible  moment  of  pain.  "Isn't  it  so, 
Clara?"  he  resumed.  "Tow  know  better  than  any  of  us 
that  May  never  cared  for  that  tutor  fellow,  —  I  forget  his 
name;  besides,  that 's  an  old  story  now,  — a  matter  of  long 
ago.  But  he  will  go.  He  says  that  even  a  rash  resolve  at 
six-and-twenty  is  far  better  than  a  vain  and  hopeless  regret 
at  six-and-forty;  but  I  say,  let  him  marry  May  Leslie,  and 
he  need  neither  incur  one  nor  the  other.  And  so  this  guar- 
dian's name  is  Harris?" 


SIR   TtlLLIAIM   IN  THE   GOUT.  331 

"No,  grandpapa,  Stocmai-." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure.  I  was  confounding  him  with  another  of 
those  stage  people.  And  what  business  has  he  to  carry  you 
off  without  your  mother's  consent?" 

"Mamma  does  consent,  sir.  She  says  that  my  education 
has  been  so  much  neglected  that  it  is  actually  indispensable 
I  should  study  now." 

"Education  neglected!  what  nonsense!  Do  they  want 
to  make  you  a  Professor  of  the  Sorbonne?  Why,  child, 
without  any  wish  to  make  you  vain,  you  know  ten  times  as 
much  as  half  the  collegiate  fellows  one  meets,  what  with 
languages,  and  music,  and  drawing,  and  all  that  school 
learning  of  mamma's  own  teaching.  And  then  that  memory 
of  yours,  Clara;  why,  you  seem  to  me  to  forget  nothing." 

"I  remember  but  too  well,"  muttered  she  to  herself. 

"What  was  it  you  said,  child?  I  did  not  catch  it,"  said 
he.  And  then,  not  waiting  for  her  reply,  he  went  on:  "And 
all  your  high  spirits,  my  little  Clara,  where  are  they  gone? 
And  your  odd  rhymes,  that  used  to  amuse  me  so?  You 
never  make  them  now." 

"They  do  not  cross  my  mind  as  they  used  to  do,"  said 
she,  pensively. 

"You  vote  them  childish,  perhaps,  like  your  dolls?"  said 
he,  smiling. 

"No,  not  that.  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  I  could  go  back 
to  the  dolls  and  the  nursery  songs.  I  wish  I  could  live  all 
in  the  hour  before  me,  making  little  dramas  of  life,  with 
some  delightful  part  for  myself  in  each,  and  only  to  be 
aroused  from  the  illusion  to  join  a  real  world  just  as 
enjoyable." 

"But  surely,  child,  you  have  not  reached  the  land  of  re- 
grets already?"  said  he,  fondly  drawing  her  towards  him 
with  his  arm. 

She  turned  her  head  away,  and  drew  her  hand  across  her 
eyes. 

"It  is  very  early  to  begin  with  sorrow,  my  dear  child," 
said  he,  affectionately.  '■'Let  me  hope  that  it's  only  an 
April  cloud,  with  the  silver  lining  already  peeping  through." 

A  faint  sob  broke  from  her,  but  she  did  not  speak. 

"I  'd  ask  to  be  your  confidant  only  in  thinking  I  could 


332  ONE   OF  THEM. 

serve  you,  dearest  Clara.  Old  men  like  myself  get  to  know 
a  good  deal  of  life  without  any  study  of  it." 

She  made  a  slight  effort  to  disengage  herself  from  his  arm., 
but  he  held  her  fast;  and,  after  a  moment,  she  leaned  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder  and  burst  out  crying. 

At  this  critical  instant  the  door  opened,  and  Mrs.  Morris 
entered.  Scarcely  inside  the  room,  she  stood  like  one 
spell-bound,  unable  to  move  or  speak ;  her  features,  flushed 
by  exercise,  became  pale  as  death,  her  lips  actually  livid. 
"Am  I  indiscreet?  "  asked  she,  in  a  voice  scarcely  other 
than  a  hiss  of  passion.  "Do  I  interrupt  a  confidence.  Sir 
William  ?  " 

•'lam  not  sure  that  you  do,"  said  he,  good-humoredly. 
"Though  I  was  pressing  Clara  to  accept  me  as  a  counsellor, 
I  'm  not  quite  certain  I  was  about  to  succeed." 

"Indeed!"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  sarcastically.  "J/^  theory 
about  young  ladies  excludes  secrets  altogether.  It  assumes 
them  to  be  candid  and  open-hearted.  They  who  walk 
openly  and  on  the  high-road  want  little  guidance  beyond 
the  dictates  of  a  right  purpose.  Go  to  your  room,  Clara, 
and  I'll  be  with  you  presently."  These  latter  words  were 
spoken  in  perfect  calm,  and  obeyed  at  once.  Mrs.  Morris 
was  now  alone  with  Sir  William. 

The  Baronet  felt  ill  at  ease.  With  a  perfect  conscious- 
ness of  honorable  motives,  there  is  an  awkwardness  in  situa- 
tions which  seem  to  require  explanation,  if  not  excuse,  and 
he  waited,  in  a  sort  of  fidgety  impatience,  that  she  should 
say  something  that  might  enable  him  to  state  what  had 
occurred  between  Clara  and  himself. 

"I  hope  you  are  better  than  when  I  left  you  this  morning  ?  " 
said  she,  as  she  untied  her  bonnet  and  seated  herself  in  front 
of  him. 

"Scarcely  so;  these  pains  recur  at  every  instant,  and  my 
nerves  are  shattered  with  irritability." 

"I'm  sorry  for  it,  for  you  have  need  of  all  your  firmness; 
bad  news  has  come  from  America." 

"Bad  news?  What  sort  of  bad  news?  Is  there  a 
war  —  " 

"A  war!"  said  she,  contemptuously.  "I  wish  it  was  a 
war!     It's  far  worse  than  war.     It's  general  bankruptcy. 


SIR   WILLLVM  IN  THE   GOUT.  883 

All  the  great  houses  breaking,  and  securities  utterly 
valueless." 

"Well,  bad  enough,  no  doubt,  but  it  does  not  immediately 
concern  us,"  said  he,  quickl}'. 

"Not  concern  us!  Wh}',  what  have  -we  been  doing  these 
last  months  but  buying  into  this  share-market?  Have  we 
not  invested  largely  in  Kansas  stock,  in  Iroquois  and  in 
Texan  bonds  ?  " 

Whether  he  had  not  originally  understood  the  transfers  in 
which  he  had  borne  his  part,  or  whether  the  pain  of  his  seiz- 
ure had  effaced  all  memory  of  the  events,  he  now  sat  bewil- 
dered and  astounded,  like  one  suddenly  aroused  from  a 
deep  sleep,  to  listen  to  disastrous  news. 

"But  I  don't  understand,"  cried  he.  "I  cannot  see  how 
all  this  has  been  done.  I  heard  you  and  Trover  discussing 
it  together,  and  I  saw  innumerable  colored  plans  of  rail- 
roads that  were  to  be,  and  cities  that  must  be,  and  I  remem- 
ber something  about  lands  to  be  purchased  for  two  dollars 
and  re-sold  for  two  hundred." 

"And,  by  all  that,  you  have  confessed  to  know  everything 
that  /  did,"  said  she,  firmly.  "It  was  explained  to  you 
that,  instead  of  muddling  away  upon  mortgage  at  home, 
some  thirty  or  even  forty  per  cent  might  be  realized  in  the 
States.  I  showed  you  the  road  by  risking  whatever  little 
fortune  I  possessed,  and  you  followed.  Now  we  have  each 
of  us  lost  our  money,  and  there's  the  whole  story." 

"But  it 's  jNIay's  money  I  've  lost!  "  cried  he,  with  a  voice 
of  anguish. 

"I  don't  suppose  it  matters  much  to  whom  it  belonged 
once,"  said  she,  dryly.  "The  gentlemen  into  whose  hands 
it  falls  will  scarcely  burden  themselves  to  ask  whence  it 
came." 

"But  I  had  no  right  to  gamble  May  Leslie's  fortune!  " 
burst  he  in. 

"We  have  no  time  for  the  ethical  part  of  the  question  at 
present,"  said  she,  calmly.  "Our  concern  is  with  how  we 
are  to  save  the  most  we  can.  I  have  just  seen  the  names  of 
two  houses  at  New  York,  which,  if  aided  in  time,  will  be 
able  to  stand  the  torrent,  and  eventually  pay  everything. 
To  save  their  credit  here  will  require  about  eighteen  thou- 


334  ONE   OF  THEM. 

sand  pounds.  It  is  our  interest  —  our  only  hope,  indeed^ 
to  rescue  them.     Could  you  induce  May  to  take  this  step  ? " 

"Induce  May  to  peril  another  large  portion  of  her  for- 
tune !  "  cried  he,  in  horror  and  astonishment. 

"Induce  her  to  arrest  what  might  proceed  to  her  ruin," 
whispered  she,  in  a  low,  distinct  voice.  "If  these  American 
securities  are  forfeited,  there  will  be  no  money  forthcoming 
to  meet  the  calls  for  the  Spanish  railroads,  no  resources  to 
pay  the  deposit  on  the  concessions  in  Naples.  You  seem  to 
forget  how  deep  our  present  engagements  are.  We  shall 
need  above  thirty  thousand  pounds  by  the  1st  of  March,  — 
fully  as  much  more  six  weeks  later." 

The  old  man  clasped  his  bauds  convulsively,  and  trembled 
from  head  to  foot. 

"You  know  well  how  ignorant  she  is  of  all  we  have  done, 
all  we  are  doing,"  said  he,  with  deep  emotion. 

"I  know  well  that  no  one  ever  labored  and  worked  for  mij 
benefit  as  I  have  toiled  for  hers.  My  endeavor  was  to 
triple,  quadruple  her  fortune,  and  if  unforeseen  casualties 
have  arisen  to  thwart  my  plans,  I  am  not  deterred  by  such 
disasters.     I  wish  I  could  say  as  much  for  jjou." 

The  ineffable  insolence  of  her  manner  as  she  uttered  this 
taunt,  far  from  rousing  the  old  man's  anger,  seemed  only 
to  awe  and  subdue  him. 

"Yes,"  continued  she,  "I  am  only  a  woman,  and,  as  a 
woman,  debarred  from  all  those  resorts  where  information 
is  rife  and  knowledge  attainable;  but  even  working  darkly, 
blindly,  as  I  must,  I  have  more  reliance  and  courage  than 
some  men  that  I  wot  of!  " 

He  seemed  for  a  moment  to  struggle  hard  with  himself  to 
summon  the  spirit  to  reply  to  her;  for  an  instant  he  raised 
his  head  haughtily,  but  as  his  eyes  met  hers  they  fell  sud- 
denly, and  he  muttered  in  a  half-broken  voice,  "I  meant  all 
for  the  best !  " 

"AYell,"  cried  she,  after  a  brief  pause,  "it  is  no  time  for 
regrets,  or  recriminations  either.  It  is  surely  neither  your 
fault  nor  mine  that  the  cotton  crop  is  a  failure,  or  that 
discounts  are  high  in  Broadway.  When  May  comes  in,  you 
must  explain  to  her  what  has  happened,  and  ask  her  leave 
to  sell  out  her  Sardinian  stock.     It  is  a  small  sum,  to  be 


Sm   WILLIAM  IN  THE   GOUT.  335 

sure,  but  it  will  give  us  a  respite  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then 
we  shall  think  of  our  next  move." 

She  left  the  room  as  she  said  this,  and  anything  more 
utterly  hopeless  than  the  old  Baronet  it  would  be  dithcult  to 
imagine.  Bewildered  and  almost  stunned  by  the  ditliculties 
around  him,  a  sort  of  vague  sense  of  reliance  upon  her  sus- 
tained him  so  long  as  she  was  there.  No  sooner,  however, 
had  she  gone,  than  this  support  seemed  withdrawn,  and  he 
sat,  the  very  picture  of  dismay  and  discomfiture. 

The  project  by  Avhich  the  artful  Mrs.  Morris  had  originally 
seduced  him  into  speculation  was  no  other  than  to  employ 
Miss  Leslie's  fortune  as  the  means  of  making  advantageous 
purchases  of  land  in  the  States,  and  of  discounting  at  the 
high  rate  of  interest  so  freely  given  in  times  of  pressure 
in  the  cities  of  the  Union.  To  suffer  a  considerable  sum  to 
lie  unprofitably  yielding  three  per  cent  at  home,  when  it 
might  render  thirty  by  means  of  a  little  energy  and  a  little 
skill,  seemed  actually  absurd;  and  not  a  day  used  to  go  over, 
in  which  she  would  not  compute,  from  the  recorded  rates  of 
the  exchanges,  the  large  gains  that  might  have  been  realized, 
without,  as  she  would  say,  "the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  risk." 
Sir  T^"illiam  had  once  gambled  on  'Change  and  in  railroad 
speculations  the  whole  of  a  considerable  estate;  and  the  old 
leaven  of  speculation  still  worked  within  him.  If  there  be  a 
spirit  which  no  length  of  years  can  efface,  no  changes  of 
time  eradicate,  it  is  the  gamester's  reliance  upon  fortune. 
Estranged  for  a  long  period  as  he  had  lived  from  all  the 
exciting  incidents  of  enterprise,  no  sooner  was  the  picture 
of  gain  once  more  displayed  before  him  than  he  eagerly 
embraced  it. 

"Ah!  "  he  would  say  to  himself,  "if  I  had  but  had  the 
advantage  of  hn-  clear  head  and  shrewd  power  of  calculation 
long  ago,  what  a  man  I  might  be  to-day!  That  woman's 
wit  of  hers  puts  all  mere  men's  acuteness  to  the  blush."  It 
is  not  necessary  to  say  that  the  softest  of  blue  eyes  and  the 
silkiest  of  brown  hair  did  not  detract  very  largely  from  the 
influences  of  her  mental  superiority;  and  Sir  William  was 
arrived  at  that  precise  lustre  in  which  such  fascinations 
obtain  their  most  undisputed  triumphs. 

Poets  talk  of  youth  as  the  impressionable  age;  they  rave 


336  ONE  OF  THEM. 

about  its  ardor,  its  impetuous,  uncalculating  generosity,  and 
so  forth ;  but  for  an  act  of  downright  self-forgetting  devo- 
tion, for  that  impulsive  spirit  that  takes  no  counsel  from 
calm  reason,  give  us  an  elderly  gentleman,  —  anything  from 
sixty-four  to  fourscore.  These  are  the  really  ardent  and 
tender  lovers,  —  easy  victims,  too,  of  all  the  wiles  that  beset 
them. 

Had  any  grave  notary,  or  deep  plotting  man  upon  'Change 
suggested  to  Sir  William  the  project  of  employing  his  ward's 
fortune  with  any  view  to  his  own  profit,  the  chances  are  that 
the  hint  would  have  been  rejected  as  an  outrage,  and  the 
suggester  insulted ;  but  the  plan  came  from  rosy  lips,  whis- 
pered by  the  softest  of  voices ;  and  even  the  arithmetic  was 
jotted  down  by  fingers  so  taper  and  so  white  that  he  lost 
sight  of  the  multiples  in  his  admiration  of  the  calculator. 
His  first  experiences,  besides,  were  all  great  successes. 
Kansas  scrip  went  up  to  a  fabulous  premium.  When  he 
sold  out  his  Salt  Lake  Fives,  he  realized  cent  per  cent. 
These  led  him  on.  That  "ardor  nummi "  which  was  not 
new  in  the  days  of  the  Latin  poet,  is  as  rife  in  our  time  as 
it  was  centuries  ago. 

Let  us  also  bear  in  mind  that  there  is  something  very  fasci- 
nating to  a  man  of  a  naturally  active  temperament  to  be  re- 
called, after  years  of  inglorious  leisure,  to  subjects  of  deep 
and  stirring  interest;  he  likes  the  self-flattery  of  being  equal 
to  such  themes,  that  his  judgment  should  be  as  sound,  his 
memory  as  clear,  and  his  apprehension  as  ready  as  it  used 
to  be.  Proud  man  is  the  old  iox-hunter  that  can  charge  his 
"quickset"  at  fourscore;  but  infinitely  prouder  the  old 
country  gentleman  who,  at  the  same  age,  fancies  himself 
deep  in  all  the  mysteries  of  finance,  and  skilled  in  the  crafty 
lore  of  the  share-market. 

And,  last  of  all,  he  was  vexed  and  irritated  by  Charley's 
desertion  of  him,  and  taunted  by  the  tone  in  which  the 
young  man  alluded  to  the  widow  and  her  influence  in  the 
family.  To  be  taught  caution,  or  to  receive  lessons  in 
worldly  craft  from  one  very  much  our  junior,  is  always  a 
trial  of  temper;  and  so  did  everything  conspire  to  make 
him  an  easy  victim  to  her  machinations. 

And  May,  —  what  of  her?     May  signed  her  name  when 


SIR   WILLIAM  IN  THE   GOUT.  337 

and  wherever  she  was  told,  concurred  with  everything,  and, 
smiling,  expressed  her  gratitude  for  all  the  trouble  they  were 
taking  on  her  behalf.  Her  only  impression  throughout  was 
that  property  was  a  great  source  of  worry ;  and  what  a  for- 
tunate thing  it  was  for  her  to  have  met  with  those  who 
understood  its  interests,  and  could  deal  with  its  eventuali- 
ties !  Of  her  large  fortune  she  actually  knew  nothing.  Little 
jests  would  be  bandied,  at  breakfast  and  dinner,  about  May 
being  the  owner  of  vast  tracts  in  the  far  West,  territories 
wide  as  principalities,  with  mines  here  and  great  forests 
there,  and  so  on,  and  sportive  allusions  to  her  one  day  be- 
coming the  queen  of  some  far-away  laud  beyond  the  sea. 
Save  in  such  laughing  guise  as  this  she  never  approached  the 
theme,  nor  cared  for  it. 

Between  May  and  Clara  a  close  friendship  had  grown  up. 
Besides  the  tastes  that  united  them,  there  was  another  and  a 
very  tender  bond  that  linked  their  hearts  together.  They 
were  confidantes.  May  told  Clara  that  she  really  loved 
Charles  Heathcote,  and  never  knew  it  till  they  were  sepa- 
rated. She  owned  that  if  his  careless,  half-indifferent  way 
had  piqued  her,  it  was  only  after  she  had  been  taught  to 
resent  it.  She  had  once  even  regarded  it  as  the  type  of  his 
manly,  independent  nature,  which  she  now  believed  to  be  the 
true  version  of  his  character;  and  then  there  was  a  secret 
—  a  real  young-lady  secret  —  between  them,  fastest  of  all 
the  bonds  that  ever  bound  such  hearts  together. 

May  fancied  or  imagined  that  young  Layton  had  gone 
away,  trusting  that  time  was  to  plead  for  him,  and  that 
absence  was  to  appeal  in  his  behalf.  Perhaps  he  had  said 
so ;  perhaps  he  hoped  it ;  perhaps  it  was  a  mere  dream  of 
her  own.  Who  knows  these  things  ?  In  that  same  court  of 
Cupid  fancies  are  just  as  valid  as  affidavits,  and  the  vaguest 
illusions  quite  as  much  evidence  as  testimon}'  taken  on  oath. 

Now,  amongst  all  the  sorrows  that  a  young  lady  loves  best 
to  weep  over,  there  is  not  one  whose  ecstasy  can  compare 
•with  the  affliction  for  the  poor  fellow  who  loves  her  to  mad- 
ness, but  whose  affection  she  cannot  return.  It  is  a  very 
strange  and  curious  fact  —  and  fact  it  is  —  that  this  same 
tie  of  a  rejected  devotion  will  occasionally  exact  sacrifices 
just  as  great  as  the  most  absorbing  passion. 
22 


338  ONE   OF  THEM. 

To  have  gained  a  man's  heart,  as  it  were,  in  spite  of  him, 
—  to  have  become  the  depositary  of  all  his  hopes,  and  yet 
not  given  him  one  scrap  of  a  receipt  for  his  whole  invest- 
ment, —  has  a  wonderful  attraction  for  the  female  nature. 
It  is  the  kind  of  debt  of  honor  she  can  appreciate  best  of  all, 
and,  it  must  be  owned,  it  is  one  she  knows  how  to  deal  with 
in  a  noble  and  generous  spirit.  To  the  man  so  placed  with 
regard  to  her  she  will  observe  an  undying  fidelity ;  she  will 
defend  him  at  any  cost;  she  will  uphold  him  at  any  sacrifice. 
Now,  May  not  only  confessed  to  Clara  that  Layton  had 
made  her  the  offer  of  his  heart,  but  she  told  how  heavily  on 
her  conscience  lay  the  possible  —  if  it  were  so  much  as 
possible  —  sin  of  having  given  him  any  encouragement. 

"You  must  write  to  the  poor  fellow  for  me,  Clara.  You 
must  tell  him  from  me  —  from  myself,  remember  —  that  it 
would  be  only  a  cruelty  to  suffer  him  to  cherish  hope ;  that 
my  self-accusings,  painful  enough  now,  would  be  tortures  if 
I  were  to  deceive  him.  I'm  sure  it  is  better,  no  matter 
what  the  anguish  be,  to  deal  thus  honestly  and  fairly ;  and 
you  can  add  that  his  noble  qualities  will  be  ever  dwelt  on 
by  me  —  indeed,  you  may  say  by  both  of  us  —  with  the  very 
deepest  interest,  and  that  no  higher  happiness  could  be  than 
to  hear  of  his  success  in  life." 

May  said  this  and  much  more  to  the  same  purpose.  She 
professed  to  feel  for  him  the  most  sincere  friendship,  faintly 
foreshadowing  throughout  that  it  was  not  the  least  demerit 
on  his  part  his  being  fascinated  by  such  attractions  as  hers, 
though  they  were,  in  reality,  not  meant  to  captivate  him. 

I  cannot  exactly  say  how  far  Clara  gave  a  faithful  tran- 
script of  her  friend's  feelings,  for  I  never  saw  but  a  part  of 
the  letter  she  wrote ;  but  certainly  it  is  only  fair  to  suppose, 
from  its  success,  that  it  was  all  May  could  have  desired. 

The  epistle  had  followed  Layton  from  an  address  he  had 
given  in  Wales  to  Dublin,  thence  to  the  north  of  Ireland, 
and  finally  overtook  him  in  Liverpool  the  night  before  he 
sailed  for  America. 

He  answered  it  at  once.  He  tendered  all  his  gratitude  for 
the  kind  thoughtfulness  that  had  suggested  the  letter.  He 
said  that  such  an  evidence  of  interest  was  inexpressibly  dear 
to  him  at  a  moment  when  nothing  around  or  about  him  was 


SIR   WILLIAM   IN   THE   GOUT.  339 

of  the  cheeriest.  He  declared  that,  going  to  a  far-away 
laud,  with  au  uncertain  future  before  him,  it  was  a  great 
source  of  encouragement  to  him  to  feel  that  good  wishes 
followed  his  steps;  that  he  owned,  in  a  spirit  of  honest 
loyalty,  that  few  as  were  the  months  that  had  intervened, 
they  were  enough  to  convince  him  of  the  immense  presump- 
tion of  his  proffer.  "You  will  tell  Miss  Leslie,"  wrote  he, 
"that  in  the  intoxication  of  all  the  happiness  I  lived  in  at 
the  villa,  I  lost  head  as  well  as  heart.  It  was  such  an  at- 
mosphere of  enjoyment  as  I  had  never  breathed  before, —  may 
never  breathe  again.  I  could  not  stop  to  analyze  what  it 
was  that  imparted  such  ecstasy  to  my  existence,  and,  natu- 
rally enough,  tendered  all  my  homage  and  all  my  devotion 
to  one  whose  loveliness  was  so  surpassing!  If  I  was  ever 
unjust  enough  to  accuse  her  of  having  encouraged  my  rash 
presumption,  let  me  now  entreat  her  pardon.  I  see  and  own 
my  fault." 

The  letter  was  very  long,  but  not  always  very  coherent. 
There  was  about  it  a  humility  that  smacked  more  of 
wounded  pride  than  submissiveuess,  and  occasionally  a  sort 
of  shadowy  protest  that,  while  grateful  for  proffered  friend- 
ship, he  felt  himself  no  subject  for  pity  or  compassion.  To 
use  the  phrase  of  Quackinboss,  to  whom  he  read  it,  "it 
closed  the  account  with  that  firm,  and  declared  no  more 
goods  from  that  store." 

But  there  was  a  loose  slip  of  paper  enclosed,  very  small, 
and  with  only  a  few  lines  written  on  it.  It  was  to  Clara 
herself.  "And  so  you  have  kept  the  slip  of  jessamine  I 
gave  you  on  that  day,  —  gave  you  so  ungraciously  too. 
Keep  it  still,  dear  Clara.  Keep  it  in  memory  of  one  who, 
when  he  claims  it  of  you,  will  ask  you  to  recall  that  hour, 
and  never  again  forget  it!  " 

This  she  did  not  show  to  May  Leslie;  and  thus  was  there 
one  secret  which  she  treasured  in  her  own  heart,  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

A   WARM    DISCUSSION. 

"I  KNEW  it,  — I  could  have  sworn  to  it,"  cried  Paten,  as 
he  listened  to  Stocmar's  narrative  of  his  drive  with  Mrs. 
Morris.  "  She  has  just  done  with  you  as  with  fifty  others. 
Of  course  you  '11  not  believe  that  you  can  be  the  dupe,  — 
she  'd  not  dare  to  throw  her  net  for  such  a  fish  as  you.  Ay, 
and  land  you  afterwards,  high  and  dry,  as  she  has  done  with 
scores  of  fellows  as  sharp  as  either  of  us." 

Stocmar  sipped  his  wine,  half  simpering  at  the  passionate 
warmth  of  his  companion,  which,  not  without  truth,  he 
ascribed  to  a  sense  of  jealousy. 

"  I  know  her  well,"  continued  Paten,  with  heightened 
passion.  "I  have  reason  to  know  her  well;  and  I  don't 
believe  that  this  moment  you  could  match  her  for  falsehood 
in  all  Europe.  There  is  not  a  solitary  spot  in  her  heart 
without  a  snare  in  it." 

"  Strange  confession  this,  from  a  lover,"  said  Stocmar, 
smiling. 

"  If  you  call  a  lover  one  that  would  peril  his  own  life  to 
bring  shame  and  disgi'ace  on  hers,  I  am  such  a  man." 

"It  is  not  more  than  a  week  ago  you  told  me,  in  all  seri- 
ousness, that  you  would  marry  her,  if  she  'd  have  you." 

*'  And  I  say  it  again,  here  and  now ;  and  I  say  more,  that 
if  I  had  the  legal  right  over  her  that  marriage  would  give 
me,  I  'd  make  her  rue  the  day  she  outraged  Ludlow  Paten." 

"  It  was  Paul  Hunt  that  she  slighted,  man,"  said  Stocmar, 
half  sneeringly.      "  You  forget  that." 

"  Is  this  meant  for  a  threat,  Stocmar?" 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,"  said  the  other,  carelessly.  "  "What  I 
meant  was,  that  other  times  had  other  interests,  and  neither 


A' WARM  DISCUSSION.  341 

she,  nor  you,  nor,  for  that  matter,  I  myself,  want  to  live 
over  the  past  again." 

Paten  threw  his  cigar  angrily  from  him,  and  sat  brooding 
and  moody ;  for  some  time  nothing  was  heard  between  them 
save  the  clink  of  the  decanter  as  they  filled  then-  glasses,  and 
passed  the  wine. 

"  Trover  's  off,"  muttered  Paten,  at  last. 

"Off!     Whereto?" 

"  To  Malta,  I  believe;  and  then  to  Egypt  —  anywhere,  in 
short,  till  the  storm  blows  over.  This  American  crash  has 
given  them  a  sharp  squeeze." 

"I  wonder  who'll  get  that  Burgundy?  I  think  I  never 
drank  such  Chambertiu  as  that  he  gave  us  t'  other  night." 

"I'd  rather  pick  up  that  pan-  of  Hungarian  chestnuts. 
They  are  the  true  '  Yucker'  breed,  with  nice  straight  sling- 
ing action." 

"His  pictures,  too,  were  good." 

"And  such  cigars  as  the  dog  had!  He  told  me,  I  think, 
he  had  about  fifteen  thousand  of  those  Cubans." 

"  A  vulgar  hound  !  —  always  boasting  of  his  stable,  or  his 
cellar,  or  his  conservatory !  I  can't  say  I  feel  sorry  for 
him." 

"Sorry  for  him!  I  should  think  not.  The  fellow  has 
had  his  share  of  good  fortune,  living  up  there  at  that  glo- 
rious villa  in  luxury.  It 's  only  fair  he  should  take  his  turn 
on  the  shady  side  of  the  road." 

"  These  Heathcotes  must  have  got  it  smartly  too  from  the 
Yankees.     They  invested  largely  there  of  late." 

"  So  Trover  told  me.  Almost  the  last  words  he  said  were  : 
'The  man  that  marries  that  girl  for  an  heiress,  will  find  he 
has  got  a  blind  nut.     Her  whole  fortune  is  swept  away.'  " 

"  I  wonder  is  that  true." 

"  I  feel  certain  it  is.  Trover  went  into  all  sorts  of  figures 
to  show  it.  I  'm  not  very  much  up  in  arithmetic,  and  so 
could  n't  follow  him  ;  but  I  gathered  that  they  'd  made  their 
book  to  lose,  no  matter  how  the  match  came  off.  That  was 
to  be  expected  when  they  trusted  such  things  to  a  woman." 

Another  and  a  longer  pause  now  ensued  between  them  ;  at 
length  Paten  broke  it  abruptly,  saying,  "And  the  girl  —  I 
mean  Clara  —  what  of  her?" 


342  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"It's  all  arranged;  she  is  to  be  Clara  Stocmar,  aud  a 
pensiounaire  of  the  Conservatoire  of  Milan  within  a  week." 

"  Who  says  so?  "  asked  Paten,  defiantly. 

"  Her  mother  —  well,  you  know  whom  I  mean  by  that  title 
—  proposed,  and  I  accepted  the  arrangement.  She  may,  or 
may  not,  have  dramatic  ability ;  like  everything  else  in  life, 
there  is  a  lottery  about  it.  If  she  really  do  show  cleverness, 
she  will  be  a  prize  just  now.  If  she  has  no  great  turn  of 
speed,  as  the  jocks  say,  she  '11  always  do  for  the  Brazils  and 
Havaunah.  They  never  send  us  their  best  cigars,  and,  in 
return,  we  only  give  theni  our  third-rate  singers !  " 

It  was  evident  in  this  speech  that  Stocmar  was  trying,"  by 
a  jocular  tone,  to  lead  the  conversation  into  some  channel 
less  irritating  and  disputatious  ;  but  Paten's  features  relaxed 
nothing  of  their  stern  severity,  and  he  looked  dogged  and 
resolute  as  before. 

"  I  think,  Stocmar,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  that  there  is  still 
a  word  wanting  to  that  same  bargain  you  speak  of.  If  the 
girl's  talents  are  to  be  made  marketable,  why  should  not  I 
stand  in  for  something?  " 

"  You,  —  you,  Ludlow  !  "  cried  the  other.  "  In  the  name 
of  all  that  is  absurd,  what  pretext  can  you  have  for  such  a 
claim?" 

"Just  this:  that  I  am  privy  to  the  robbery,  and  might 
peach  if  not  bought  up." 

"  You  know  well  this  is  mere  blind  menace,  Ludlow,"  said 
the  other,  good-humoredly  ;  "  and  as  to  letting  off  squibs,  my 
boy,  don't  forget  that  you  live  in  a  powder-magazine." 

"And  what  if  I  don't  care  for  a  blow-up?  What  if  I  tell 
you  that  I  'd  rather  send  all  sky-high  to-morrow  than  see  that 
woman  succeed  in  all  her  schemes,  and  live  to  defy  me?" 

"As  to  that,"  said  Stocmar,  gravely,  "the  man  who 
neither  cares  for  his  own  life  or  character  can  always  do 
damage  to  those  of  another ;  there  is  no  disputing  about 
that." 

"  Well,  I  am  exactly  such  a  man,  and  she  shall  know  it." 
Not  a  word  was  spoken  for  several  minutes,  and  then  Paten 
resumed,  but  in  a  calmer  and  more  deliberate  tone,  "  Trover 
has  told  me  everything.  I  see  her  whole  scheme.  She 
meant  to  marry  that  old  Baronet,  and  has  been  endeavoring, 


A- WARM  DISCUSSION.  343 

by  speculating  in  the  share-market,  to  get  some  thousands 
together ;  now,  as  the  crash  has  smashed  the  money  part  of 
the  scheme,  the  chances  are  it  will  have  also  upset  the  mar- 
riage.    Is  not  that  likely  ?  " 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  guess,"  said  Stocmar,  doubt- 

ingly. 

"  Yuu  can  guess  it,  just  as  I  can,"  said  Paten,  half  angrily. 
"She's  not  the  woman  to  link  her  fortune  with  a  ruined 
man.  Can't  you  guess  that?"  Stocmar  nodded,  and  Paten 
went  on :  "  Now,  /  mean  to  stand  to  win  on  either  event,  — 
that 's  my  book." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Paul." 

"  Call  me  Ludlow,  confound  you,"  said  Paten,  passion- 
ately, "or  that  infernal  name  will  slip  out  some  day  un- 
awares. What  I  would  say  is,  that,  if  she  wishes  to  be  '  My 
Lady,'  she  must  buy  me  off  first.  If  she  '11  consent  to  be- 
come my  wife,  —  that  is  the  other  alternative." 

"  She'll  never  do  that,"  said  Stocmar,  gravely. 

"  How  do  you  know,  —  did  she  tell  you  so?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  You  onl}'  know  it,  then,  from  your  intimate  acquaintance 
with  her  sentiments,"  said  he,  sneeringly. 

'^  How  I  know,  or  why  I  believe  it,  is  my  own  affair,"  said 
Stocmar,  in  some  irritation;   "but  such  is  my  conviction." 

"  Well,  it  is  not  mine,"  said  Paten,  filling  up  his  glass, 
and  drinking  it  slowly  off.  "  I  know  her  somewhat  longer 
—  perhaps  somewhat  better  —  than  you  do ;  and  if  I  know 
anything  in  her,  it  is  that  she  never  cherishes  a  resentment 
when  it  costs  too  high  a  price." 

"  You  are  always  the  slave  of  some  especial  delusion, 
Ludlow,"  said  Stocmar,  quietly.  "  You  are  possessed  with 
the  impression  that  she  is  afraid  of  you.  Now,  my  firm  per- 
suasion is,  that  the  man  or  woman  that  can  terrify  Jier  has 
yet  to  be  born." 

"  How  she  has  duped  you!  "  said  Paten,  insolently. 

"That  may  be,"  said  he.  "There  is,  however,  one  error 
I  have  not  fallen  into,  —  I  have  not  fancied  that  she  is  in 
love  with  me." 

This  sally  told ;  for  Paten  became  lividly  pale,  and  he 
shook  from  head  to  foot  with  passion.     Careful,  however,  to 


344  ONE   OF  THEM, 

conceal  the  deep  offence  the  speech  had  given  him,  he  never 
uttered  a  word  in  reply.  Stocmar  saw  his  advantage,  and 
was  silent  also.  At  last  he  spoke,  but  it  was  in  a  tone  so 
conciliatory  and  so  kindly  withal,  as  to  efface,  if  possible, 
all  unpleasant  memory  of  the  last  speech.  "I  wish  you 
would  be  guided  by  me,  Ludlow,  in  this  business.  It  is  not 
a  question  for  passion  or  vindictiveness  ;  and  I  would  simply 
ask  you.  Is  there  not  space  in  the  world  for  both  of  you, 
without  any  need  to  cross  each  other?  Must  your  hatred  of 
necessity  bridge  over  all  distance,  and  bring  you  incessantly 
into  contact?  In  a  word,  can  you  not  go  your  road,  and  let 
her  go  hers,  unmolested?  " 

"Our  roads  lie  the  same  way,  man.  I  want  to  travel 
with  her,"  cried  Paten. 

"But  not  in  spite  of  her! — not,  surely,  if  she  declines 
your  company !  " 

"  Which  you  assume  that  she  must,  and  I  am  as  confident 
that  she  will  not." 

Stocmar  made  an  impertinent  gesture  at  this,  which  Paten, 
quickly  perceiving,  resented,  by  asking,  in  a  tone  of  almost 
insult,  "  What  do  you  mean?  Is  it  so  very  self-evident  that 
a  woman  must  reject  me?     Is  that  your  meaning?  " 

"  Any  woman  that  ever  lived  would  reject  the  man  who 
pursues  her  with  a  menace.  So  long  as  you  presume  to 
wield  an  influence  over  her  by  a  threat,  your  case  must  be 
hopeless." 

"  These  are  stage  and  behind-scene  notions,  —  they  never 
were  gleaned  from  real  life.  Your  theatrical  women  have 
little  to  lose,  and  it  can't  signify  much  to  them  whether  a 
story  more  or  less  attach  to  their  names.  Threats  of  expo- 
sure would  certainly  affright  them  little ;  but  your  woman 
living  in  the  world,  holding  her  head  amongst  other  women, 
criticising  their  dress,  style,  and  manner,  —  think  of  her  on 
the  day  that  the  town  gets  hold  of  a  scandal  about  her !  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  there 's  any  price  too  high  to  pay  for 
silencing  it?  " 

"  What  would  you  really  take  for  those  letters  of  hers,  if 
she  were  disposed  to  treat  for  them  ?  " 

"  I  offered  them  once  to  old  Nick  Holmes  for  two  thousand 
pounds.     I  'd  not  accept  that  sum  now." 


A 'WARM  DISCUSSION.  345 

"  But  where  or  how  could  she  command  such  an  amount?  " 

' '  That 's  no  affair  of  mine.  I  have  an  article  in  the  market, 
and  T  'm  not  bound  to  trouble  myself  as  to  the  straits  of  the 
purchaser.  Look  here,  Hyman  Stocmar,"  said  he,  changing 
his  voice  to  a  lower  tone,  while  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's 
arm,  —  "  look  here.  You  think  me  very  vindictive  and  very 
malignant  in  all  this,  but  if  you  only  knew  with  what  insults 
she  has  galled  me,  what  cruel  slights  she  has  passed  upon  me, 
you  'd  pity  rather  than  condemn  me.  If  she  would  have  per- 
mitted me  to  see  and  speak  to  her,  —  if  I  could  only  be  able 
to  appeal  to  her  myself,  —  I  don't  think  it  would  be  in  vain ; 
and,  if  I  know  anything  of  myself,  I  could  swear  I  'd  bear 
up  with  the  crudest  thing  she  could  utter  to  me,  rather  than 
these  open  outrages  that  come  conveyed  through  others." 

"And  if  that  failed,  would  you  engage  to  restore  her 
letters?  —  for  some  possible  sum,  I  mean,  for  you  know 
well  two  thousand  is  out  of  the  question.  She  told  me 
she  could  command  some  six  or  seven  hundred  pounds. 
She  said  so,  believing  that  I  really  came  to  treat  with  her 
on  the  subject." 

Paten  shook  his  head  dissentingly,  but  was  silent.  At 
last  he  said:  "  She  must  have  much  more  than  this  at  her 
command,  Stocmar.  Hawke's  family  never  got  one  shil- 
ling by  his  death ;  they  never  were  able  to  trace  what  be- 
came of  his  money,  or  the  securities  he  held  in  foreign 
funds.  I  remember  how  Godfrey  used  to  go  on  about 
that  girl  of  his  being  one  day  or  other  the  greatest  heiress 
of  her  time.  Take  my  word  for  it,  Loo  could  make  some 
revelations  on  this  theme.  Come,"  cried  he,  quickly,  as  a 
sudden  thought  flashed  across  him,  "I'll  tell  you  what  I'll 
do.  You  are  to  meet  her  this  evening  at  the  masked  ball. 
Let  me  go  in  your  place.  I  '11  give  you  my  solemn  prom- 
ise not  to  abuse  the  opportunity,  nor  make  any  scandal 
whatever.  It  shall  be  a  mere  business  discussion  between 
us;  so  much  for  so  much.  If  she  comes  to  terms,  well. 
If  she  does  not  agree  to  what  I  propose,  there  's  no  harm 
done.  As  I  said  before,  there  shall  be  no  publicity,  —  no 
scene." 

"  I  can't  accede  to  this,  Ludlow.  It  would  be  a  gross 
breach  of  faith  on  my  part,"  said  Stocmar,  gravely. 


346  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  All  your  punctilio,  I  remark,  is  reserved  for  her  benefit," 
said  Paten,  angrily.  "  It  never  occurs  to  you  to  remember 
that  /am  the  injured  person." 

"  I  only  think  of  the  question  as  it  displays  a  man  on  one 
side,  and  a  woman  on  the  other.  Long  odds  in  favor  of  the 
first,  eh  ?  " 

"  You  think  so  !  "  said  Paten,  with  a  sneer.  "  By  Jove  ! 
how  well  you  judge  such  matters!  I  can't  help  wondering 
what  becomes  of  all  that  subtlety  and  sharpness  you  show 
when  dealing  with  stage  folk,  when  you  come  to  treat  with 
the  world  of  every-day  life.  Why,  I  defy  the  wiliest  ser- 
pent of  the  ballet  to  overreach  you,  and  yet  you  suffer  this 
woman  to  wind  you  round  her  finger !  " 

"  Well,  it  is  a  very  pretty  finger!  "  laughed  Stocmar. 

"  Yes,  but  to  have  you  at  her  feet  in  this  fashion  !  " 

"  And  what  a  beautiful  foot  too !  "  cried  Stocmar,  with 
enthusiasm. 

Something  that  sounded  like  a  malediction  was  muttered 
by  Paten  as  he  arose  and  walked  the  room  with  passionate 
strides.  "  Once  more,  I  say,"  cried  he,  "  let  me  take  your 
place  this  evening,  or  else  I  '11  call  on  this  old  fool,  —  this 
vSir  William  Heathcote,  —  and  give  him  the  whole  story  of 
his  bride.  I  'm  not  sure  if  it's  not  the  issue  would  give  me 
most  pleasure.     I  verily  believe  it  would." 

"  It 's  a  smart  price  to  pay  for  a  bit  of  malice  too !  "  said 
Stocmar,  musing.  "I  must  say,  there  are  some  other  ways 
in  which  the  money  would  yield  me  as  much  pleasure." 

"Is  it  a  bargain,  Stocmar?  Do  you  say  yes?"  cried 
Paten,  with  heightened  excitement. 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  agree  to  it,"  broke  in  the  other. 
"If  she  distinctly  tells  me  that  she  will  not  meet  you  —  " 

"Then  she  shall,  by !"  cried  Paten,  confirming  the 

determination  by  a  terrible  oath.  "  Look  out  now,  Stocmar, 
for  a  scene,"  continued  he,  "  and  gratify  yourself  by  the 
thought  it  is  all  your  own  doing.  Had  you  accepted  my 
proposal,  I  'd  have  simply  gone  in  your  place,  made  myself 
known  to  her  without  scandal  or  exposure,  and,  in  very 
few  words,  declared  what  my  views  were,  and  learned  how 
far  she'd  concur  with  them.  You  prefer  an  open  rupture 
before  the  world.    Well,  you  shall  have  it !  " 


A'  WARM  DISCUSSION.  347 

Stocmar  employed  all  his  most  skilful  arguments  to  oppose 
this  course.  He  showed  that,  in  adopting  it,  Faten  sacri- 
ficed every  prospect  of  self-interest  and  advantage,  and,  for 
the  mere  indulgence  of  a  cruel  outrage,  that  he  compromised 
a  position  of  positive  benefit.  The  other,  however,  would 
not  yield  an  inch.  The  extreme  concession  that  Stocmar, 
after  a  long  discussion,  could  obtain  was,  that  the  interview 
was  not  to  exceed  a  few  minutes,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  at 
furthest ;  that  there  was  to  be  no  eclat  or  exposure,  so  far 
as  he  could  pledge  himself ;  and  that  he  would  exonerate 
Stocmar  from  all  the  reproach  of  being  a  willing  party  to  the 
scheme.  Even  with  these  stipulations,  Stocmar  felt  far  from 
being  reconciled  to  the  plan,  and  declared  that  he  could  never 
forgive  himself  for  his  share  in  it. 

"It  is  your  confounded  self-esteem  is  alwaj's  uppermost 
in  your  thoughts,"  said  Paten,  insolently.  "Just  please  to 
remember  you  are  no  foreground  figure  in  this  picture,  if  you 
be  any  figure  at  all.  I  feel  full  certain  she  does  not  want 
you,  —  I  '11  take  my  oath  /  do  not,  —  so  leave  us  to  settle  our 
own  affairs  our  own  way,  and  don't  distress  yourself  because 
you  can't  interfere  with  them." 

With  this  rude  speech,  uttered  in  a  tone  insolent  as  the 
words,  Paten  arose  and  left  the  room.  Scarcely  had  the 
door  closed  after  him,  however,  than  he  reopened  it,  and 
said,  — 

"  Only  one  word  more,  Stocmar.  No  double,  —  no  treach- 
ery with  me  here.  I'll  keep  my  pledge  to  the  very  letter; 
but  if  you  attempt  to  trick  or  to  overreach  me,  I  '11  blow  up 
the  magazine." 

Before  Stocmar  could  reply,  he  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LOO    AND    HER    FATHER. 

Mrs.  Morris,  supposed  to  be  confined  to  her  room  with  a 
bad  headache,  was  engaged  in  dressing  for  the  masked  ball, 
when  a  small  twisted  note  was  delivered  to  her  by  her  maid. 

"  Is  the  bearer  of  this  below  stairs?"  asked  she,  eagerly. 
"  Show  him  in  immediately." 

The  next  moment,  a  short,  burly  figure,  in  a  travelling- 
dress,  entered,  and,  saluting  her  with  a  kiss  on  either  cheek, 
unrolled  his  woollen  comforter,  and  displayed  the  pleasant, 
jocund  features  of  Mr.  Nicholas  Holmes. 

"  How  well  you  are  looking,  papa !  "  said  she.  "  I  declare 
I  think  you  grow  younger !  " 

"  It's  the  good  conscience,  I  suppose,"  said  he,  laughing. 
"  That  and  a  good  digestion  help  a  man  very  far  on  his  road 
through  life.     And  how  are  you.  Loo?" 

"  As  you  see,"  said  she,  laughingly.  '<  With  some  of 
those  family  gifts  you  speak  of,  I  rub  on  through  the  world 
tolerably  well." 

"You  are  not  in  mourning,  I  perceive.  How  is  that?" 
asked  he,  looking  at  the  amber-colored  silk  of  her  dress. 

"  Not  to-night,  papa,  for  I  was  just  dressing  for  a  masked 
ball  at  the  Pergola,  whither  I  was  about  to  go  on  the  sly, 
having  given  out  that  I  was  suffering  from  headache,  and 
could  not  leave  my  room." 

"  Fretting  over  poor  Penthony,  eh?"  cried  he,  laughing. 

"  Well,  of  course  that  might  also  be  inferred.  Not  but  I 
have  already  got  over  my  violent  grief.  1  am  beginning  to 
be  what  is  technically  called  '  resigned.' " 

"  Which  is,  I  believe,  the  stage  of  looking  out  for  an- 
other !  "  laughed  he  again. 


OF  / 

CAUfQ^^  LOO  AND   HER   FATHER. 


349 


She  gave  a  little  faint  sigh,  and  went  on  with  her  dress- 
ing. "And  what  news  have  you  for  me,  papa?  What  is 
going  on  at  home?" 

"Nothing, — absolutely  nothing,  dear.  You  don't  care 
for  political  news?  " 

"  Not  much.  You  know  I  had  a  surfeit  of  Downing 
Street  once.  By  the  way,  papa,  only  think  of  my  meeting 
George !  " 


"Ogden, — George  Odgen?" 

"Y^'es,  it  was  a  strange  accident.  He  came  to  fetch  away 
a  young  lad  that  happened  to  be  stopping  with  us,  and  we 
met  face  to  face  —  fortunately,  alone  —  in  the  garden." 

"Very  awkward  that!  "  muttered  he. 

"So  it  was;  and  so  he  evidently  felt  it.  By  the  way, 
how  old  he  has  grown!  George  can't  be  more  than  —  let 
me  see  —  forty-six.  Yes,  he  was  just  forty-six  on  the  8th 
of  August.     You'd  guess  him  fully  ten  years  older." 

"How  did  he  behave?  Did  he  recognize  you  and  address 
you?" 


350  ONE   OF   THEM. 

"Yes;  we  talked  a  little,  —  not  pleasantly,  though.  He 
evidently  is  not  forgiving  in  his  nature,  and  you  know  he 
had  never  much  tact,  —  except  official  tact,  —  and  so  he  was 
flurried  and  put  out,  and  right  glad  to  get  away." 

"But  there  was  no  eclat,  — no  scandal?" 

"Of  course  not.  The  whole  incident  did  not  occupy  ten 
minutes." 

"They've  been  at  me  again  about  my  pension, — his 
doing,  I'm  sure,"  muttered  he, — "asking  for  a  return  of 
services,  and  such-like  rubbish." 

"Don't  let  them  worry  you,  papa;  they  dare  not  push 
you  to  publicity.  It 's  like  a  divorce  case,  where  one  of 
the  parties,  being  respectable,  must  submit  to  any  terms 
imposed." 

"Well,  that's  my  own  view  of  it,  dear;  and  so  I  said, 
'  Consult  the  secret  instructions  to  the  Under-Secretary  for 
Ireland  for  an  account  of  services  rendered  by  N.  H. '  " 

"You  '11  hear  no  more  of  it,"  said  she,  flippantly.  "What 
of  Ludlow  ?     Where  is  he  ?  " 

"He  's  here.     Don't  you  know  that?  " 

"Here!     Do  you  mean  in  Florence?" 

"Yes;  he  came  with  Stocmar.  They  are  at  the  same 
hotel." 

"I  declare  I  half  suspected  it,"  said  she,  with  a  sort  of 
bitter  laugh.  "Oh,  the  cunning  Mr.  Stocmar,  that  must 
needs  deceive  me !  " 

"And  you  have  seen  him?" 

"Yes;  I  settled  about  his  taking  Clara  away  with  him. 
I  want  to  get  rid  of  her,  —  I  mean  altogether,  —  and  Stoc- 
mar is  exactly  the  person  to  manage  these  little  incidents  of 
the  white  slave-market.  But,"  added  she,  with  some  irri- 
tation, "that  was  no  reason  why  you  should  dupe  me,  my 
good  Mr.  Stocmar!  particularly  at  the  moment  when  I  had 
poured  all  my  sorrows  into  your  confiding  breast!  " 

"He  's  a  very  deep  fellow,  they  tell  me." 

"No,  papa,  he  is  not.  He  has  that  amount  of  calculation 
—  that  putting  this,  that,  and  t'  other  together,  and  seeing 
what  they  mean  —  which  all  Jews  have;  but  he  makes  the 
same  blunder  that  men  of  small  craft  are  always  making. 
He  is  eternally  on  the  search  after  motives,  just  as  if  fifteen 


LOO   AND  HER  FATHER.  351 

out  of  every  twenty  things  in  this  life  are  not  done  without 
any  motive  at  all !  " 

"Only  in  Ireland,  Loo,  — only  iu  Ireland." 

"Nay,  papa,  iu  Ireland  they  do  the  full  twenty,"  said  she, 
laughing.  "But  what  has  brought  Ludlow  here?  He  has 
certainly  not  come  without  a  motive." 

"To  use  some  coercion  over  you,  I  suspect." 

"Probabl}^  enough.  Those  weary  letters,  —  those  weary 
letters!"  sighed  she.  "Oh,  papa  dear, — you  who  were 
always  a  man  of  a  clear  head  and  a  subtle  brain,  —  how  did 
you  fall  into  the  silly  mistake  of  having  your  daughter 
taught  to  write?  Our  nursery-books  are  crammed  with 
cautious  injunctions,  —  '  Don't  play  with  fire,'  &c.,  —  and 
of  the  real  peril  of  all  perils  not  a  word  of  warning  is 
uttered,  and  nobody  says,  '  Avoid  the  inkstand. '  " 

"How  could  you  have  fallen  into  such  a  blunder?"  said 
he,  half  peevishly. 

"  I  gave  rash  pledges,  papa,  just  as  a  bankrupt  gives  bad 
bills.     I  never  believed  I  was  to  be  solvent  again." 

"We  must  see  what  can  be  done.  Loo.  I  know  he  is  very 
hard  up  for  money  just  now;  so  that  probably  a  few  hun- 
dreds might  do  the  business." 

She  shook  her  head  doubtingly,  but  said  nothing. 

"  A  fellow-traveller  of  mine,  unacquainted  with  him  per- 
sonally, told  me  that  his  bills  were  seen  everywhere  about 
town." 

"Who  is  your  companion?  " 

"An  Irishman  called  O'Shea." 

"And  is  the  O'Shea  here  too?"  exclaimed  she,  laugh- 
ingly. 

"Yes;  since  he  has  lost  his  seat  in  the  House,  England 
has  become  too  hot  for  him.  And,  besides,"  added  he, 
slyly,  "he  has  told  me  in  confidence  that  if  '  the  party,'  as 
he  calls  them,  should  not  give  him  something,  he  knows  of 
a  widow  somewhere  near  this  might  suit  him.  '  I  don't  say 
that  she  's  rich,  mind  you,'  said  he,  '  but  she  's  'cute  as  a  fox, 
and  would  be  sure  to  keep  a  man's  head  above  water  some- 
how.' " 

Mrs.  Morris  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  mouth,  but  the 
sense  of  the  ridiculous  could  not  be  suppressed,  and  she 
laughed  out. 


352  ONE   OF   THEM. 

"What  would  I  not  have  given  to  have  heard  him,  papa!  " 
said  she,  at  last. 

"Well,  it  really  icas  good,"  said  he,  wiping  his  eyes;  for 
he,  too,  had  indulged  in  a  very  hearty  laugh,  pai-ticularly 
when  he  narrated  all  the  pains  O'Shea  had  been  at  to  dis- 
cover who  Penthony  Morris  was,  where  he  came  fi-om,  and 
what  fortune  he  had.  "  '  It  was  at  first  all  in  vain,'  said 
he,  '  but  no  sooner  did  I  begin  to  pay  fellows  to  make 
searches  for  me,  than  I  had  two,  or  maybe  three  Penthony 
Morrises  every  morning  by  the  post;  and,  what's  worse,  all 
alive  and  hearty ! '  " 

"What  did  he  do  under  these  distressing  circumstances? " 
asked  she,  gayly. 

"He  said  he  'd  give  up  the  search  entirely.  '  There  's 
no  such  bad  hunting  country,'  said  he,  '  as  where  there  's  too 
many  foxes,  and  so  I  determined  I  'd  have  no  more  Pen- 
thony Morrises,  but  just  go  in  for  the  widow  without  any 
more  inquiry.'  " 

"And  have  you  heard  the  plan  of  his  campaign?  "  asked 
she. 

"  He  has  none,  —  at  least,  I  think  not.  He  trusts  to  his 
own  attractions  and  some  encouragement  formerly  held  out 
to  him." 

"Indiscreet  wretch!  "  said  she,  laughing;  "not  but  he 
told  the  truth  there.  I  remember  having  given  him  some- 
thing like  what  lawyers  call  a  retainer." 

"Such  a  man  might  be  very  troublesome.  Loo,"  said  he, 
cautiously. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  papa;  he  might  be  very  useful,  on  the 
contrary.  Indeed,  I'm  not  quite  certain  that  I  have  not 
exactly  the  very  service  on  which  to  employ  him." 

"Remember,  Loo,"  said  he,  warmly,  "he's  a  shrewd  fel- 
low in  his  way." 

"'In  his  way'  he  is,  but  his  way  is  not  mine"  said  she, 
with  a  saucy  toss  of  the  head.  "  Have  you  any  idea,  papa, 
of  what  may  be  the  sort  of  place  or  employment  he  looks 
for?  Is  he  ambitious,  or  has  adversity  taught  him 
humility  ?  " 

"A  good  deal  depends  upon  the  time  of  the  day  when 
one  talks  to  him.      Of   a  morning  he  is  usually  downcast 


LOO   AND   HER  FATHER.  353 

and  depressed;  he  'd  go  out  as  a  magistrate  to  the  Bahamas 
or  consul  to  a  Poyais  republic.  Towards  dinner-time  he 
grows  more  difficult  and  pretentious;  and  when  he  has  got 
three  or  four  glasses  of  wine  in,  he  would  n't  take  less  than 
the  Governorship  of  a  colony." 

"Then  it's  of  an  evening  one  should  see  him." 

"Nay,  I  should  say  not.  Loo.  I  would  rather  take  him 
at  his  cheap  moment." 

"Quite  wrong,  papa, — quite  wrong.  It  is  when  his 
delusions  are  strongest  that  he  will  be  most  easily  led.  His 
own  vanity  will  be  the  most  effectual  of  all  intoxications. 
But  you  may  leave  him  to  me  without  fear  or  misgiving." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  he,  dryly.  And  a  silence  of  some 
minutes  ensued.  "  Why  are  you  taking  such  pains  about 
your  hair,  Loo,"  asked  he,  "if  you  are  going  in  domino?" 

"None  can  ever  tell  when  or  where  they  must  unmask  in 
this  same  life  of  ours,  papa,"  said  she,  laughingly;  "and  I 
have  got  such  a  habit  of  providing  for  casualties  that  I 
have  actually  arranged  my  papers  and  letters  in  the  fashion 
they  ought  to  be  found  in  after  my  death." 

Holmes  sighed.  The  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  death  is 
always  unwelcome  to  a  man  with  a  light  auburn  wig  and  a 
florid  complexion,  who  wants  to  cheat  Fate  into  the  notion 
that  he  is  hale  and  hearty,  and  who  likes  to  fancy  himself 
pretty  much  what  he  was  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago.  And 
Holmes  sighed  with  a  feeling  of  compassionate  sorrow  for 
himself. 

"By  the  way,  papa,"  said  she,  in  a  careless,  easy  tone, 
"where  are  you  stopping?" 

"At  the  Hotel  d'ltalie,  my  dear." 

"  What  do  you  think,  —  had  n't  you  better  come  here?  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  know,  nor  do  I  precisely  see  how." 

"Leave  all  that  to  me^  papa.  You  shall  have  an  invita- 
tion, —  '  Sir  William  Heathcote's  compliments,'  &c.,  — all 
in  due  form,  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  I  '11  give  directions 
about  your  room.     You  have  no  servant,  I  hope  ?  " 

"None." 

"So  much  the  better;  there  is  no  guarding  against  the 
garrulity  of  that  class,  and  all  the  craftiest  stratagems  of 
the  drawing-room  are  often  undermined  in  the   servants'- 


354  ONE   OF  THEM. 

hall.  As  for  yourself,  you  know  that  you  represent  the  late 
Captain's  executor.  You  were  the  guardian  of  poor  dear 
Penthony,  and  his  oldest  friend  in  the  world." 

"Knew  him  since  he  was  so  high! "  said  he,  in  a  voice  of 
mock  emotion,  as  he  held  out  his  extended  palm  about  two 
feet  above  the  floor. 

"That  will  give  you  a  world  of  trouble,  papa,  for  you'll 
have  to  prepare  yourself  with  so  much  family  history, 
explaining  what  Morrises  they  were,  how  they  were  Pen- 
thonys,  and  so  on.  Sir  William  will  torture  you  about 
genealogies." 

"I  have  a  remedy  for  that,  my  dear,"  said  he,  slyly.  "I 
am  most  painfully  deaf!  No  one  will  maintain  a  conversa- 
tion of  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  me  without  risking  a  sore 
throat;  not  to  say  that  no  one  can  put  delicate  questions  in 
the  voice  of  a  boatswain." 

"Dear  papa,  you  are  always  what  the  French  call  '  at  the 
level  of  the  situation,'  and  your  deafness  will  be  charm- 
ing, for  our  dear  Baronet  and  future  husband  has  a  most 
inquisitive  turn,  and  would  positively  torture  you  with  in- 
terrogatories." 

"  He  '11  be  more  than  mortal  if  he  don't  give  in.  Loo.  I 
gave  a  Lunacy  Commissioner  once  a  hoarseness  that  re- 
quired a  course  of  the  waters  at  Vichy  to  cure;  not  to  say 
that,  by  answering  at  cross  purposes,  one  can  disconcert 
the  most  zealous  inquirer.  But  now,  my  dear,  that  I  am  in 
possession  of  my  hearing,  do  tell  me  something  about  your- 
self and  your  plans." 

"I  have  none,  papa, —  none,"  said  she,  with  a  faint  sigh. 
"Sir  William  Heathcote  has,  doubtless,  many,  and  into 
some  of  them  I  may  perhaps  enter.  He  intends,  for  in- 
stance, that  some  time  in  March  I  shall  be  Lady  Heathcote; 
that  we  shall  go  and  live  —  I'm  not  exactly  sure  where, 
though  I  know  we  're  to  be  perfectly  happy,  and,  not  wish- 
ing to  puzzle  him,  I  don't  ask  how." 

"I  have  no  doubt  you  will  be  happy,  Loo,"  said  he,  confi- 
dently. "  Security,  safety,  my  dear,  are  great  elements  of 
happiness." 

"I  suppose  they  are,"  said  she,  with  another  sigh;  "and 
when  one  has  been  a  privateer  so  long,  it  is  pleasant  to  be 


I 


EOO   AND  HER  FATHER.  355 

enrolled  in  the  regular  navy,  even  though  one  should  be 
laid  up  in  ordinary," 

"Nay,  nay,  Loo,  no  fear  of  that!  " 

"On  the  contrary,  papa,  every  hope  of  it!  The  best  thing 
I  could  ask  for  would  be  oblivion." 

"My  dear  Loo,"  said  he,  impressively,  "the  world  has  not 
got  one  half  so  good  a  memory  as  you  fancy.  It  is  our 
own  foolish  timidity  —  what  certain  folk  call  conscience  — 
that  suggests  the  idea  how  people  are  talking  of  us,  and, 
like  the  valet  in  the  comedy,  we  begin  confessing  our 
sins  before  we  're  accused  of  them !  " 

"I  know  that  is  your  theory,  papa,"  said  she,  laughing, 
"and  that  one  ought  always  to  'die  innocent.'  " 

"Of  course,  my  dear.  It  is  only  the  jail  chaplain  bene- 
fits by  what  is  called  '  a  full  disclosui-e  of  the  terrible 
tragedy. '  " 

"I  hear  my  carriage  creeping  up  quietly  to  the  door," 
said  she,  listening.  "Be  sure  you  let  me  see  you  early  to- 
morrow.    Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A   GRAVE   SCENE   IN   LIGHT   COMPANY. 

Moralists  have  often  found  a  fruitful  theme  in  the  utter 
barrenness  of  all  the  appliances  men  employ  for  their  pleas- 
ures. What  failures  follow  them,  what  weariness,  what 
satiety  and  heart-sickness !  The  feast  of  Belshazzar  every- 
where ! 

To  the  mere  eye  nothing  could  be  more  splendid,  nothing 
more  suggestive  of  enjoyment,  than  the  Pergola  of  Flor- 
ence when  brilliantly  lighted  and  thronged  with  a  gay  and 
merry  company.  Character  figures  in  every  variety  fancy 
or  caprice  could  suggest  —  Turks,  Styrians,  Highlanders, 
Doges,  Dervishes,  and  Devils  —  abounded,  with  Pifferari 
from  Calabria,  Muleteers,  Matadors,  and  Conjurers;  Boy- 
ards  from  Tobolsk  jostled  Male  Crusaders,  and  Demons 
that  might  have  terrified  St.  Anthony  flitted  past  with  Sis- 
ters of  Charity!  Strange  parody  upon  the  incongruities  of 
our  every-day  life,  costume  serving  but  to  typify  the  moral 
incompatibilities  which  are  ever  at  work  in  our  actual  exist- 
ence !  for  are  not  the  people  we  see  linked  together  —  are 
not  the  social  groupings  we  witness  —  just  as  widely  sepa- 
rated by  every  instinct  and  every  sentiment  as  are  these 
characters  in  all  their  motley?  Are  the  two  yonder,  as  they 
sit  at  the  fireside,  not  as  remote  from  each  other  as  though 
centuries  had  rolled  between  them?  They  toil  along,  it  is 
true,  together ;  they  drag  the  same  burden,  but  with  different 
hopes  and  fears  and  motives.  Bethink  you  "the  friends 
so  linked  together  "  are  like-minded  ?  No,  it  is  all  masquer- 
ade; and  the  motley  is  that  same  easy  conventionality  by 
which  we  hope  to  escape  undetected  and  unknown ! 

Our  business  now  is  not  with  the  mass  of  this  great 
assemblage;  we  are  only  interested  for  two  persons, —  one  of 


A   GRAVE   SCENE   IN  LIGHT  COMPANY.  357 

•whom,  a  tall  figure  in  a  black  domino,  leans  against  a  pillar 
yonder,  closely  scrutinizing  each  new-comer  that  enters, 
and  eagerly  glancing  at  the  sleeve  of  every  yellow  domino 
that  passes. 

He  has  been  there  from  an  early  hour  of  the  evening,  and 
never  left  it  since.  Many  a  soft  voice  has  whispered  some 
empty  remark  on  his  impassiveness;  more  than  once  a  jest- 
ing sarcasm  has  been  uttered  upon  his  participation  in  the 
gayety  around;  but  he  has  never  replied,  but  with  folded 
arms  patiently  awaited  the  expected  one.  At  last  he  is 
joined  by  another,  somewhat  shorter  and  stouter,  but 
dressed  like  him,  who,  bending  close  to  his  ear,  whispers,  — 

"Why  are  you  standing  here,  —  have  you  not  seen 
her  ? " 

"No;  she  has  never  passed  this  door." 

''  She  entered  by  the  stage,  and  has  been  walking  about 
this  hour.  I  saw  her  talking  to  several,  to  whom,  to  judge 
by  their  gestures,  her  remarks  must  have  been  pointed 
enough;  but  there  she  is,  — see,  she  is  leaning  on  the  arm 
of  that  Malay  chief.     Join  her;  you  know  the  signal." 

Paten  started  suddenly  from  his  lounging  attitude,  and 
cleft  his  way  through  the  crowd,  little  heeding  the  com- 
ments his  rude  persistence  called  forth.  As  he  drew  nigh 
where  the  yellow  domino  stood,  he  hesitated  and  glanced 
around  him,  as  though  he  felt  that  every  eye  was  watching 
him,  and  only  after  a  moment  or  so  did  he  seem  to  remem- 
ber that  he  was  disguised.  At  last  he  approached  her,  and, 
taking  her  sleeve  in  his  hand,  unpinned  the  little  cross  of 
tricolored  ribbon  and  fastened  it  on  his  own  domino.  With 
a  light  gesture  of  farewell  she  quickly  dismissed  her  cavalier 
and  took  his  arm. 

As  he  led  her  along  through  the  crowd,  neither  spoke,  and 
it  was  only  at  last,  as  seemingly  baffled  to  find  the  spot  he 
sought  for,  she  said,  — 

"All  places  are  alike  here.  Let  us  talk  as  we  walk 
along." 

A  gentle  pressure  on  her  arm  seemed  to  assent,  and  she 
went  on :  — 

"It  was  only  at  the  last  moment  that  I  determined  to 
come  here  this  evening.     You   have   deceived   me.      Yes; 


358  ONE   OF  THEM. 

don't  deny  it.  Paten  is  with  you  here,  and  you  never  told 
me." 

He  muttered  something  that  sounded  like  apology. 

"It  was  unfair  of  you,"  said  she,  hurriedly,  "for  I  was 
candid  and  open  with  you;  and  it  was  needless,  besides, 
for  we  are  as  much  apart  as  if  hundreds  of  miles  separated 
us.     I  told  you  already  as  much." 

"But  why  not  see  him?  He  alone  can  release  you  from 
the  bond  that  ties  you;  he  may  be  more  generous  than  you 
suspect." 

"He  generous!     Who  ever  called  him  so? " 

"Many  who  knew  him  as  well  as  you,"  cried  he,  suddenly. 

With  a  bound  she  disengaged  her  arm  from  him,  and 
sprang  back. 

"Do  not  touch  me;  lay  so  much  as  a  finger  on  me,  and 
I  '11  unmask  and  call  upon  this  crowd  for  protection !  "  cried 
she,  in  a  voice  trembling  with  passion.  "I  know  you 
now." 

"Let  me  speak  with  you  a  few  words,  — the  last  I  shall 
ever  ask,"  muttered  he,  "and  I  promise  all  you  dictate." 

"Leave  me  —  leave  me  at  once,"  said  she,  in  a  mere  whis- 
per. "If  you  do  not  leave  me,  I  will  declare  aloud  who 
you  are." 

"Who  we  are;  don't  forget  yourself,"  muttered  he. 

"For  that  I  care  not.     I  am  ready." 

"For  mercy's  sake.  Loo,  do  not,"  cried  he,  as  she  lifted 
her  hand  towards  the  strings  of  her  mask.  "I  will  go. 
You  shall  never  see  me  more.  I  came  here  to  make  the 
one  last  reparation  I  owe  you,  to  give  you  up  your  letters, 
and  say  good-bye  forever." 

"That  you  never  did,  — never!  "  cried  she,  passionately. 
"You  came  because  you  thought  how,  in  the  presence  of 
this  crowd,  the  terror  of  exposure  would  crush  my  woman's 
heart,  and  make  me  yield  to  any  terms  you  pleased." 

"If  I  swear  to  you  by  all  that  I  believe  is  true  —  " 

"You  never  did  believe;  your  heart  rejected  belief. 
When  I  said  I  knew  you,  I  meant  it  all :  I  do  know  you.  I 
know,  besides,  that  when  the  scaffold  received  one  criminal, 
it  left  another,  and  a  worse,  behind.  For  many  a  year  you 
have  made  my  life  a  hell.     I  would  not  care  to  go  on  thus ; 


A  GRAVE   SCENE   IN   LIGHT  COMPANY. 


359 


all  your  vengeance  and  all  the  scorn  of  the  world  would  be 
light  compared  to  what  I  wake  to  meet  each  morning,  and 
close  my  eyes  to,  as  I  sleep  at  night." 

"Listen  to  me,  Loo,  but  for  one  moment.  I  do  not  want 
to  justify  myself.  You  are  not  more  wretched  than  I  am, 
—  utterly,  irretrievably  wretched !  " 

"Where  are  the  letters?"  said  she,  in  a  low  whisper. 

"They  are  here,  —  in  Florence." 

"What  sum  will  you  take  for  them?" 


"They  shall  be  yours  unbought,  Loo,  if  you  will  but  hear 
me." 

"I  want  the  letters;  tell  me  their  price." 

"The  price  is  simply  one  meeting  —  one  opportunity  to 
clear  myself  before  you  —  to  show  you  how  for  years  my 
heart  has  clung  to  you." 

"I  cannot  buy  them  at  this  cost.  Tell  me  how  much 
money  you  will  have  for  them." 

"It  is  your  wish  to  outrage,  to  insult  me,  then?"  mut- 
tered he,  in  a  voice  thick  with  passion. 

"Now  j'ou  are  natural;  now  you  are  yourself;  and  now  I 
can  speak  to  you.     Tell  me  your  price. " 


360  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Your  shame!  —  yoiu-  open  degradation!  The  spectacle 
of  3'our  exposure  before  all  Europe,  when  it  shall  have  been 
read  in  every  language  and  talked  of  in  every  city." 

"I  have  looked  for  that  hour  for  many  a  year,  Paul  Hunt, 
and  its  arrival  would  be  mercy,  compared  with  the  daily 
menace  of  one  like  you." 

"The  story  of  the  murder  again  revived;  the  life  you  led, 
the  letters  themselves  revealing  it;  the  orphan  child  robbed 
of  her  inheritance;  the  imposture  of  your  existence  abroad 
here !  —  what  variety  in  the  scenes !  what  diversity  in  the 
interests  I  " 

"I  am  far  from  rich,  but  I  would  pay  you  liberally,  Paul," 
said  she,  in  a  voice  low  and  collected. 

"Cannot  you  see,  woman,  that  by  this  language  you  are 
wrecking  your  last  hope  of  safety?"  cried  he,  insolently. 
"  Is  it  not  plain  to  you  that  you  are  a  fool  to  insult  the  hand 
that  can  crush  you  ?  " 

"But  I  am  crushed;  I  can  fall  no  lower,"  whispered  she, 
tremulously. 

"Oh,  dearest  Loo,  if  you  would  forgive  me  for  the 
past! " 

"I  cannot  —  I  cannot!  "  burst  she  out,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.     "I  have  done  all  I  could,  but  I  cannot!  " 

"  If  you  only  knew  bow  I  was  tempted  to  it,  Loo !  If  you 
but  heard  the  snare  that  was  laid  for  me !  " 

A  scornful  toss  of  her  head  was  all  her  answer. 

"It  is  in  my  consciousness  of  the  wrong  I  have  done  you 
that  I  seek  this  reparation,  Loo,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "When 
I  speak  otherwise,  it  is  my  passion  gives  utterance  to  the 
words.     My  heart  is,  however,  true  to  you." 

"Will  you  let  me  have  my  letters,  and  at  what  cost?  I 
tell  you  again,  I  am  not  rich,  but  I  will  pay  largely,  liber- 
ally here." 

"Let  me  confess  it.  Loo,"  said  he,  in  a  trembling  tone, 
"these  letters  are  the  one  last  link  between  us.  It  is  not  for 
a  menace  I  would  keep  them,  —so  help  me  Heaven,  the  hour 
of  your  shame  would  be  that  of  my  death,  —  but  I  cling  to 
them  as  the  one  tie  that  binds  my  fate  to  yours.  I  feel  that 
when  I  surrender  them,  that  tie  is  broken ;  that  I  am  noth- 
ing to  you ;  that  you  would  hear  my  name  unmoved,  and  see 


A   GRAVE  SCENE   IN  LIGHT  COMPANY.  361 

me  pass  without  a  notice.  Bethink  you,  then,  that  you 
ask  me  for  what  alone  attaches  me  to  existence." 

"I  cannot  understand  such  reasonings,"  said  she,  coldly. 
"  These  letters  have  no  other  value  save  the  ruin  they  can 
work  me.  If  not  employed  to  that  end,  they  might  as  well 
blacken  in  the  fire  or  moulder  into  dust.  You  tell  me  you 
are  not  in  search  of  any  vengeance  on  me,  and  it  is  much 
to  say,  for  I  never  injured  you,  while  you  have  deeply 
injured  me.  Why,  therefore,  not  give  up  what  you  own  to 
be  so  useless  ?  " 

"For  the  very  reason  I  have  given  you.  Loo;  that,  so 
long  as  I  hold  them,  I  have  my  interest  in  your  heart,  and 
you  cannot  cease  to  feel  bound  up  with  my  destiny." 

"And  is  not  this  vengeance?  "  asked  she,  quietly.  "Can 
you  picture  to  your  mind  a  revenge  more  cruel,  living  on 
from  day  to  day,  and  gathering  force  from  time?  " 

"But  to  me  there  is  ever  the  hope  that  the  past  might  come 
back  again." 

"Never  —  never!"  said  she,  resolutely.  "The  man  who 
has  corrupted  a  woman's  heart  may  own  as  much  of  it  as  can 
feel  love  for  him;  but  he  who  has  held  up  to  shame  the  dis- 
honor he  has  provoked  must  be  satisfied  with  her  loathing 
and  her  hate." 

"And  you  tell  me  that  these  are  my  portion?  "  said  he, 
sternly. 

"Your  conscience  can  answer  how  you  have  earned  them." 

They  walked  along  side  by  side  in  silence  for  some  time, 
and  at  last  she  said,  "How  much  better,  for  both  of  us,  to 
avoid  words  of  passion  or  remembrances  of  long  ago." 

"You  loved  me  once.  Loo,"  broke  he  in,  with  deep  emotion. 

"And  if  I  once  contracted  a  debt  which  I  could  not  pay 
you  now,  would  you  insult  me  for  my  poverty,  or  persecute 
me?     I  do  not  think  so,  Ludlow." 

"And  when  I  have  given  them  to  you.  Loo,  and  they  are 
in  your  hands,  how  are  we  to  meet  again  ?  Are  we  to  be  as 
utter  strangers  to  each  other?"  said  he,  in  deep  agitation. 

"Yes,"  replied  she,  "it  is  as  such  we  must  be.  There  is 
no  hardship  in  this;  or,  if  there  be,  only  what  one  feels  in 
seeing  the  house  he  once  lived  in  occupied  by  another,  —  a 
passing  pang,  perhaps,  but  no  mdre." 


362  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"How  you  are  changed,  Loo!  "  cried  he. 

"How  silly  would  it  be  for  the  trees  to  burst  out  in  bud 
with  winter!  and  the  same  folly  were  it  for  us  not  to  change 
as  life  wears  on.     Our  spring  is  past,  Ludlow." 

"But  I  could  bear  all  if  you  were  not  changed  to  me," 
cried  he,  passionately. 

"Far  worse,  again.  I  am  changed  to  myself,  so  that  I  do 
not  know  myself,"  said  she. 

"I  know  well  how  your  heart  reproaches  me  for  all  this. 
Loo,"  said  he,  sorrowfully;  "how  you  accuse  me  of  being 
the  great  misfortune  of  your  life.     Is  it  not  so?  " 

"  Who  can  answer  this  better  than  youi-self?"  cried  she, 
bitterly. 

"And  yet,  was  it  not  the  whole  aim  and  object  of  my 
existence  to  be  otherwise  ?  Did  I  not  venture  everything  for 
your  love  ?  " 

"  If  you  would  have  me  talk  with  you,  speak  no  more  of 
this.  You  have  it  in  your  power  to  do  me  a  great  service, 
or  work  me  a  great  injury ;  for  the  first,  I  mean  to  be  more 
than  grateful ;  that  is,  I  would  pay  all  I  could  command ;  for 
the  last,  your  recompense  must  be  in  the  hate  you  bear  me. 
Decide  which  path  you  will  take,  and  let  me  face  my  future 
as  best  I  may." 

"  There  is  one  other  alternative,  Loo,  which  you  have 
forgotten." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Can  you  not  forgive  me?"  said  he,  almost  sobbing  as 
he  spoke. 

"  I  cannot,  —  I  cannot,"  said  she.  ' '  You  ask  me  for  more 
than  any  human  heart  could  yield.  All  that  the  world  can 
heap  upon  me  of  contempt  would  be  as  nothing  to  what  I 
should  feel  for  myself  if  I  stooped  to  that.  No,  no ;  follow 
out  your  vengeance  if  it  must  be,  but  spare  me  to  my  own 
heart." 

"  Do  you  know  the  insults  you  cast  upon  me?  "  cried  he, 
savagely.  "  Are  you  aware  that  it  is  to  my  own  ears  you 
speak  these  words  ?  " 

"  Do  not  quarrel  with  me  because  I  deal  honestly  by 
you,"  said  she,  firmly.  "  I  will  not  promise  that  I  cannot 
pay.     Remember,  too,  Ludlow,  that  what  I  ask  of  you  I  do 


A  GRAV&  SCENE   IN  LIGHT  COMrANY.  363 

not  ask  from  your  generosity.  I  make  no  claim  to  what  I 
have  forfeited  all  right.  I  simply  demand  the  price  you  set 
upon  a  certain  article  of  which  to  me  the  possession  is  more 
than  life.  I  make  no  concealment  from  you.  I  own  it 
frankly  —  openly." 

"  You  want  your  letters,  and  never  to  hear  more  of  me  !  " 
said  he,  sternly. 

"  What  sum  will  you  take  for  them?  "  said  she,  in  a  slow, 
whispering  voice. 

*'  You  ask  what  will  enable  you  to  set  me  at  defiance  for- 
ever, Loo !  Say  it  frankly  and  fairly.  You  want  to  tear 
your  bond  and  be  free." 

She  did  not  speak,  and  he  went  on,  — 

"  And  you  can  ask  this  of  the  man  you  abhor!  you  can 
stoop  to  solicit  him  whom,  of  all  on  earth,  you  hate  the 
most  I " 

Still  she  was  silent. 

"Well,"  said  he,  after  a  lengthened  pause,  "you  shall 
have  them.  I  will  restore  them  to  you.  I  have  not  got 
them  here,  —  they  are  in  England,  —  but  I  will  fetch  them. 
My  word  on  it  that  I  will  keep  my  pledge.  I  see,"  added  he, 
after  an  interval,  in  which  he  expected  she  would  speak,  but 
was  still  silent,  —  "I  see  how  little  faith  you  repose  in  a 
promise.  You  cannot  spare  one  word  of  thanks  for  what 
you  regard  as  so  uncertain  ;  but  I  can  endure  this,  for  I  have 
borne  worse.  Once  more,  then,  I  swear  to  you,  you  shall 
have  your  letters  back.  I  will  place  them  myself  in  your 
hands,  and  before  witnesses  too.  Remember  that,  Loo  — 
before  witnesses !  "  And  with  these  words,  uttered  with  a 
sort  of  savage  energy,  he  turned  away  from  her,  and  was 
soon  lost  in  the  crowd. 

"I  have  followed  you  this  hour.  Loo,"  said  a  low  voice 
beside  her. 

She  turned  and  took  the  speaker's  arm,  trembling  all  over, 
and  scarcely  able  to  keep  from  falling. 

"  Take  me  away,  father,  —  take  me  away  from  this,"  said 
she,  faintly.     "  I  feel  very  ill." 

"  It  was  Paten  was  with  you.  I  could  not  mistake  him," 
said  Holmes.     "  What  has  occurred  between  you?  " 

"  I   will   tell  you  all  when  I  get  home,"  said  she,  still 


364  ONE   OF  THEM. 

speaking  faintly.  And  now  they  moved  through  the  motley 
crowd,  with  sounds  of  mirth  and  words  of  folly  making  din 
around  them.  Strange  discrepant  accents  to  fall  on  hearts 
as  full  as  theirs!  "How  glad  I  am  to  breathe  this  fresh 
cold  night  air,"  cried  she,  as  they  gained  the  street.  "  It 
was  the  heat,  the  noise,  and  the  confusion  overcame  me,  but 
I  am  better  now." 

"  And  how  have  you  parted  with  him?"  asked  her  father, 
eagerly. 

"  With  a  promise  that  sounds  like  a  threat,"  said  she,  in  a 
hollow  voice.     "  But  you  shall  hear  all." 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

MK.    STOCMAli's    VISIT. 

It  was  not  without  trepidation  that  Mr.  Stocmar  presented 
himself,  the  morning  after  the  events  we  have  recorded,  at 
the  residence  of  Sir  William  Heathcote.  His  situation  was, 
indeed,  embarrassing;  for  not  only  had  he  broken  faith  with 
Mrs.  Morris  in  permitting  Paten  to  take  his  place  at  the  ball, 
but  as  Paten  had  started  for  England  that  same  night  with- 
out even  communicating  with  him,  Stocmar  was  completely 
puzzled  what  to  do,  and  how  to  comport  himself. 

That  she  would  receive  him  haughtily,  disdainfully  even, 
he  was  fully  prepared  for ;  that  she  would  reproach  him  — 
not  very  measuredly  too  —  for  his  perfidy  regarding  Paten, 
he  also  expected.  But  even  these  difficulties  were  less  than 
the  embarrassment  of  not  knowing  how  her  meeting  with 
Paten  had  been  conducted,  and  to  what  results  it  had  led. 
More  than  once  did  he  stop  in  the  street  and  deliberate  with 
himself  whether  he  should  not  turn  back,  hasten  to  his  hotel, 
and  leave  Florence  without  meeting  her.  Nor  was  he  quite 
able  to  say  why  he  resisted  this  impulse,  nor  how  it  was  that, 
in  defiance  of  all  his  terrors,  he  found  himself  at  length  at 
her  door. 

The  drawing-room  into  which  he  was  shown  was  large  and 
splendidly  furnished.  A  conservatory  opened  from  one  end, 
and  at  the  other  a  large  folding  glass  door  gave  upon  a 
spacious  terrace,  along  which  a  double  line  of  orange-trees 
formed  an  alley  of  delicious  shade.  Scarcely  had  Stocmar 
passed  the  threshold  than  a  very  silvery  voice  accosted  him 
from  without. 

"Oh,  do  come  here,  dear  Mr.  Stocmar,  and  enjoy  the 
delightful  freshness  of  this  terrace.  Let  me  present  a  very 
old  friend  of  my  family  to  you,  —  Captain  Holmes.     He  has 


366  ONE   OF   THEM. 

just  returned  from  India,  and  can  give  you  the  very  latest 
news  of  the  war."  And  the  gentlemen  bowed,  and  smiled, 
and  looked  silly  at  each  other.  "  Is  not  all  this  very  charm- 
ing, Mr.  Stocmar?  —  at  a  season,  too,  when  we  should,  in 
our  own  country,  be  gathering  round  coal-fires  and  screening 
ourselves  from  draughts.  I  am  very  angry  with  you,  —  very," 
whispered  she,  as  she  gave  him  her  hand  to  kiss,  "and  I 
am  not  at  all  sure  if  I  mean  ever  to  be  friends  with  you 
again." 

And  poor  Mr.  Stocmar  bowed  low  and  blushed,  not 
through  modesty,  indeed,  but  delight,  for  he  felt  like  the 
schoolboy  who,  dreading  to  be  punished,  hears  he  is  to  be 
rewarded. 

"  But  I  am  forgiven,  am  I  not?"  muttered  he. 

"Hush!  Be  cautious,"  whispered  she.  "Here  comes 
Sir  William  Heathcote.  Can't  you  imagine  yourself  to  have 
known  him  long  ago?  " 

The  hint  was  enough ;  and  as  the  old  Baronet  held  out  his 
hand  with  his  accustomed  warmth,  Stocmar  began  a  calcu- 
lation of  how  many  years  had  elapsed  since  he  had  first 
enjoyed  the  honor  of  shaking  that  hand.  This  is  a  sort  of 
arithmetic  elderly  gentlemen  have  rather  a  liking  for.  It  is 
suggestive  of  so  many  pleasant  little  platitudes  about  ' '  long 
ago,"  with  anecdotic  memories  of  poor  dear  Dick  or  Harry, 
that  it  rarely  fails  to  interest  and  amuse.  And  so  they  dis- 
cussed whether  it  was  not  in  '38  or  '39,  —  whether  in  spring 
or  in  autumn,  — if  Boulter — '-poor  Tom,"  as  they  laughingly 
called  him  —  had  not  just  married  the  widow  at  that  time ; 
and,  in  fact,  through  the  intervention  of  some  mock  dates 
and  imaginary  incidents,  they  became  to  each  other  like  very 
old  friends. 

Those  debatable  nothings  are  of  great  service  to  English- 
men who  meet  as  mere  acquaintances ;  they  relieve  the  awk- 
wardness of  looking  out  for  a  topic,  and  they  are  better 
than  the  eternal  question  of  the  weather.  Sir  William  had, 
besides,  a  number  of  people  to  ask  after,  and  Stocmar  knew 
everybody,  and  knew  them,  too,  either  by  some  nickname,  or 
some  little  anecdotic  clew  very  amusing  to  those  who  have 
lived  long  enough  in  the  world  to  be  interested  by  the  same 
jokes  on  the  same  people,  —  a  time  of  life,  of  course,  not 


MR.   STOCMAR'S   VISIT.  367 

om-s,  dear  reader,  though  we  may  come  to  it  one  day  ;  and 
Captain  Holmes  listened  to  the  reminiscences,  and  smiled, 
and  smirked,  and  "very  true'd,"  to  the  great  enjoyment  of 
the  others ;  while  Mrs.  Morris  stole  noiselessly  here  and 
there,  cutting  camellias  for  a  bouquet,  but  not  unwatchful  of 
the  scene. 

"I  hope  and  trust  I  have  been  misinformed  about  your 
plans  here,  Mr.  Stocmar,"  said  Sir  William,  who  was  so 
happy  to  recall  the  names  of  former  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances, "  You  surely  do  not  mean  to  run  away  from  us  so 
soon  ?  " 

A  quick  glance  from  Mrs.  Morris  telegraphed  his  reply, 
and  he  said,  "  I  am  most  unfortunately  limited  for  time.  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  leave  immediately." 

"A  day  or  two  you  could  surely  spare  us?"  said 
Heathcote. 

Stocmar  shook  his  head  with  a  deploring  smile,  for  another 
glance,  quick  as  the  former,  had  given  him  his  instructions. 

"  I  have  told  you,  Sir  William,  how  inexorable  he  is  about 
Clara  ;  and  although  at  first  I  stoutly  opposed  his  reasonings, 
I  am  free  to  own  that  he  has  convinced  me  his  plan  is  the 
true  one  ;  and  as  he  has  made  all  the  necessai-y  arrangements, 
—  have  you  not,  Mr.  Stocmar?  —  and  they  are  charming 
people  she  will  be  with,  —  he  raves  about  them,"  said  she,  in 
a  sort  of  whisper,  while  she  added,  still  lower,  "  and  I  partly 
explained  to  him  my  own  projected  change,  — and,  in  fact,  it 
is  better  as  it  is,  —don't  you  think  so?"  and  thus  hurrying 
Sir  William  along,  —  a  process  not  unlike  that  by  which  an 
energetic  rider  hustles  a  lazy  horse  through  heavy  ground,  — 
she  at  least  made  him  feel  grateful  that  he  was  not  called 
upon  for  any  increased  exercise  of  his  judgment.  And  then 
Stocmar  followed,  like  another  counsel  in  the  same  brief,  — 
half  jocularly,  to  be  sure,  and  like  one  not  required  to  sup- 
ply more  than  some  illustrative  arguments.  He  remarked 
that  young  ladies  nowadays  were  expected  to  be  models  of 
erudition,  —  downright  professors  ;  no  smatterings  of  French 
and  Italian,  no  water-color  sketches  touched  up  by  the 
master,  —  "  they  must  be  regular  linguists,  able  to  write  like 
De  Sf'vigne,  and  interpret  Dante."  In  a  word,  so  much  did 
he  improve  the  theme,  that  he  made  Sir  William  shudder  at 


368  ONE   OF  THEM. 

the  bare  thought  of  being  domesticated  with  so  much  loose 
learniug,  aud  thank  his  stars  that  he  had  been  born  in  a 
generation  before  it.  Not  but  the  worthy  Baronet  had  his 
own  secret  suspicions  that  Clara  wanted  little  aid  from  all 
their  teachings ;  his  firm  belief  being  that  she  was  the  most 
quick-witted,  gifted  creature  ever  existed,  and  it  was  in  a 
sort  of  triumphant  voice  he  asked  Mrs.  Morris,  "  Has  Mr. 
Stocmar  seen  her?" 

"  Not  yet,"  said  she,  dr3fly.  "  Clara  is  in  my  room.  Mr. 
Stocmar  shall  see  her  presently ;  for,  as  he  insists  on  leaving 
this  to-morrow  —  " 

"  To-morrow  —  to-morrow  !  "  cried  Sir  William,  in  amaze- 
ment. 

And  then  Stocmar,  drawing  close  to  Sir  William,  began 
confidentially  to  impart  to  him  how,  partly  from  over-per- 
suasion of  certain  great  people,  partly  because  he  liked  that 
sort  of  thing,  he  had  got  into  theatrical  management.  "  One 
must  do  something.  You  know,"  said  he,  "I  hate  farming, 
never  was  much  of  a  sportsman,  had  no  turn  for  politics ; 
and  so,  by  Jove!  I  thought  I'd  try  the  stage.  I  mean,  of 
course,  as  manager,  director,  '  impresario,'  or  whatever  you 
call  it.  I  need  not  tell  you  it 's  a  costly  amusement,  so  far 
as  expense  goes.  I  might  have  kept  the  best  house  in  town, 
and  the  best  stables  in  Leicestershire,  for  far  less  than  I  have 
indulged  my  dramatic  tastes ;  but  I  like  it :  it  amuses,  it 
interests  me  !  "  And  Stocmar  drew  himself  up  and  stuck  his 
hands  into  his  waistcoat-pockets,  as  though  to  say,  "  Gaze, 
and  behold  a  man  rich  enough  to  indulge  a  costly  capi'ice, 
and  philosophic  enough  to  pay  for  the  pleasure  that  rewards 
him."  "Yes,  sir,"  he  added,  "  my  last  season,  though  the 
Queen  took  her  private  box,  and  all  my  noble  friends  stood 
stanchly  to  me,  brought  me  in  debt  no  less  than  thirteen 
thousand  seven  hundred  pounds !  That 's  paying  for  one's 
whistle,  sir, — eh?"  cried  he,  as  though  vain  of  his  own 
defeat. 

"  You  might  have  lost  it  in  the  funds,  and  had  no  pleasure 
for  it,"  said  Sir  William,  consolingly. 

"  The  very  remark  I  made,  sir.  The  very  thing  I  said  to 
Lord  Snaresby.  I  might  have  been  dabbling  in  those  Yan- 
kee securities,  and  got  hit  just  as  hard." 


MR.   STOCMAR'S   VISIT.  369 

Sir  William  made  a  wry  face,  and  turned  away.  He  hoped 
that  Captain  Holmes  had  not  overheard  the  allusion  ;  but  the 
Captain  was  deep  in  "  Galignani,"  and  heard  nothing. 

"It  is  this,"  continued  Stoemar,  "recalls  me  so  suddenly 
to  England.  We  open  on  the  24th,  and  I  give  you  my  word 
of  honor  we  have  neither  tenor,  basso,  nor  barytone  engaged, 
nor  am  I  quite  sure  of  my  prima  donna." 

"Who  ever  was?"  whispered  Mrs.  Morris,  slyly;  and 
then  added  aloud,  "  Come  now,  and  let  me  present  Clara  to 
you.  We'll  return  presently.  Sir  William."  And,  so  say- 
ing, she  slipped  her  arm  within  Stocmar's  and  led  him 
awaj'. 

"Who  is  that  Captain  Holmes?"  asked  he,  as  they 
walked  along. 

"  Oh,  a  nobody  ;  an  old  muff." 

"Is  he  deaf,  or  is  it  mere  pretence?" 

*'  Deaf  as  a  post." 

"I  know  his  face  perfectly.  I've  seen  him  about  town 
for  years  back." 

"  Impossible !  He  has  been  collecting  revenue,  distress- 
ing Talookdars,  or  Ryots,  or  whatever  they  are,  in  India, 
these  thirty-odd  years.  It  was  some  one  you  mistook  for 
him."  She  had  her  hand  on  the  lock  of  the  door  as  she  said 
this.  She  paused  before  opening  it,  and  said,  "Remember, 
you  are  her  guardian,  —  your  word  is  law."  And  they 
entered. 

Stoemar  was  certainly  not  prepared  for  the  appearance  of 
the  young  girl  who  now  rose  to  receive  him  with  all  the 
practised  ease  of  the  world.  She  was  taller,  older-looking, 
and  far  handsomer  than  he  expected,  and,  as  Mrs.  Morris 
said,  "  Your  guardian,  Clara,"  she  courtesied  deeply,  and 
accepted  his  salutation  at  once  with  deference  and  resei've. 

"  I  am  in  the  most  painful  of  all  positions,"  began  he, 
with  a  courteous  smile.  "  My  first  step  in  j-our  acquaint- 
ance is  as  the  ungracious  herald  of  a  separation  from  all 
you  love." 

"  I  have  been  prepared,  sir,  for  your  intentions  regarding 
me,"  said  she,  coldly. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Stoemar,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Morris,  quickly, 
*'  though  Clara  is  very  young,  she  is  thoroughly  aware  of  our 
24 


370  ONE  OF  THEM. 

circumstances ;  she  knows  the  narrowness  of  our  fortune, 
and  the  necessity  we  are  under  of  effort  for  our  future 
support.  Her  own  pride  and  her  feeUng  for  me  are  sutlicient 
reasons  for  keeping  such  matters  secret.  She  is  not  ignorant 
of  the  world,  little  as  she  has  seen  of  it,  and  she  comprehends 
that  our  acceptance  with  our  friends  is  mainly  dependent  on 
our  ability  to  dispense  with  their  assistance." 

"  Am  I  to  be  a  governess,  sir?"  asked  Clara,  with  a  calm 
which  the  deathlike  paleness  of  her  face  showed  to  have  cost 
her  dearly. 

"A  governess!  a  governess!"  repeated  he,  looking  at 
Mrs.  Morris  for  his  cue,  for  the  suddenness  of  the  question 
had  routed  all  his  preparations.  "I  think  not, — I  should 
hope  not ;  indeed,  I  am  enabled  to  say,  there  is  no  thought  of 
that." 

"If  so,"  continued  Clara,  in  the  same  calm  tone,  "I 
should  like  to  be  with  very  young  children.  I  am  not  afraid 
of  being  thought  menial." 

"Clara,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Morris,  harshly,  "Mr.  Stocmar 
has  already  assured  you  that  he  does  not  contemplate  this 
necessity."  She  looked  towards  him  as  she  spoke,  and  he 
at  once  saw  it  was  his  duty  to  come  up  to  the  rescue,  and 
this  he  did  with  one  of  those  efforts  all  his  own.  He  launched 
forth  boldly  into  generalities  about  education  and  its  ad- 
vantages ;  how,  with  the  development  of  the  mind  and  the 
extension  of  the  resources,  came  new  fields  of  exercise,  fresh 
realms  of  conquest.  "None  of  us,  my  dear  young  lady." 
cried  he,  "  not  the  worldliest  nor  the  wisest  of  us,  can  ever 
tell  when  a  particular  acquirement  will  be  the  key-stone  of 
our  future  fortune."  He  illustrated  his  theory  with  copious  in- 
stances. "  There  was  Mademoiselle  Justemar,  whom  nobody 
had  ever  imagined  to  be  an  artiste,  came  out  as  Alice  one 
evening  that  the  prima  donna  was  ill,  and  took  the  whole 
town  by  storm.  There  was  that  little  creature,  Violetta ; 
who  ever  fancied  she  could  dance  till  they  saw  her  as  Titania  ? 
Every  one  knew  of  Giulia  Barducci,  taken  from  the  chorus, 
to  be  the  greatest  Norma  of  the  age." 

He  paused  and  looked  at  her,  with  a  stare  of  triumph  in 
his  features  ;  his  expression  seemed  to  say,  "  "What  think  you 
of  that  glorious  Paradise  I  have  led  you  to  look  at  ?  " 


MR.   STOCMAR'S   VISIT. 


371 


"It  is  very  encouraging  indeed,  sir,"  said  Clara,  dryly, 
but  with  no  semblance  of  irony,  — "  very  encouraging. 
There  is,  then,  really  no  reason  that  one  day  1  might  not  be 
a  rope-dancer." 

"  Clara,"  cried  Mrs.  Morris,  severely,  "  you  must  curb  this 
habit,  if  you  will  not  do  better  by  abandoning  it  altogether. 
The  spirit  of  repartee  is  the  spirit  of  impertinence." 

"I  had  really  hoped,  mamma,"  said  she,  with  an  air  of 
simplicity,  "  that,  as  all   Mr.  Stocmar's   illustrations  were 


taken  from  the  stage,  I  had  caught  the  spirit  of  his  examples 
in  giving  one  from  the  circus." 

"I'll  be  sworn  you're  fond  of  riding,"  cried  Stocmar, 
eager  to  relieve  a  very  awkward  crisis  even  by  a  stupid 
remark. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  am  very  clever  in  training.  I  know  the 
whole  '  Bauchet '  system,  and  can  teach  a  horse  his  '  flex- 
ions,' and  the  rest  of  it.  —  Well,  but,  mamma,"  broke  she 
in,  apologetically,  "  surely  my  guardian  ought  to  be  aware  of 
my  perfections;  and  if  you  won't  inform  him,  /must." 

"You  perceive,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "that  when  I 
spoke  of  her  flippancy,  I  was  not  exaggerating." 


372  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  You  may  rely  upon  it,  Mr.  Stocmar,"  continued  Clara, 
"mamma's  description  of  me  was  only  justice." 

Stocmar  laughed,  and  hoped  that  the  others  would  have 
joined  him  ;  but  in  this  he  was  unhappily  disappointed  :  they 
were  even  graver  than  before ;  Mrs.  Morris  showing,  in  her 
heightened  color,  a  degree  of  irritation,  while  Clara's  pale 
face  betrayed  no  sign  of  emotion. 

"You  are  to  leave  this  to-morrow,  Clara,"  said  Mrs. 
Morris,  coldly. 

"Very  well,  mamma,"  was  the  quiet  answer. 

"  You  don't  seem  very  eager  to  know  for  whither,"  said 
Stocmar,  smiliug.     "  Are  all  places  alike  to  you?  " 

"■Pretty  much  so,  sir,"  said  she,  in  the  same  voice. 

"  You  were  scarcely  prepared  for  so  much  philosophy,  I  'm 
sure,  Mr.  Stocmar,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  sneeringly.  "Pray 
confess  yourself  surprised." 

"Call  it  ignorance,  mamma,  and  you'll  give  it  the  right 
name.  What  do  /  know  of  the  world,  save  from  guide  and 
road  books?  and,  from  the  little  I  have  gleaned,  many  a 
village  would  be  pleasanter  to  me  than  Paris." 

"More  philosophy,  sir.  You  perceive  what  a  treasure  of 
wisdom  is  about  to  be  intrusted  to  your  charge." 

"Pray  bear  that  in  mind,  sir,"  said  Clara,  with  a  light 
laugh;  "and  don't  forget  that  though  the  casket  has  such  a 
leaden  look,  it  is  all  pure  gold." 

Never  was  poor  Stocmar  so  puzzled  before.  He  felt  sail- 
ing between  two  frigates  in  action,  and  exposed  to  the  fire 
of  each,  though  a  non-combatant;  nor  was  it  of  any  use 
that  he  hauled  down  his  flag,  and  asked  for  mercy, —  they 
only  loaded  and  banged  away  again. 

"I  must  say,"  cried  he  at  last,  "that  I  feel  very  proud  of 
my  ward." 

"And  I  am  charmed  with  my  guardian,"  said  she,  courtesy- 
ing,  with  an  air  that  implied  far  more  of  grace  than  sincer- 
ity in  its  action. 

Mrs.  Morris  bit  her  lip,  and  a  small  red  spot  on  her  cheek 
glowed  like  a  flame. 

"I  have  explained  fully  to  Mr.  Stocmar,  Clara,"  said  she, 
in  a  cold,  calm  tone,  "that  from  to-morrow  forward  your 
allegiance  will  be  transferred  from  me  to  him ;  that  with 


Sill.   STOCMAR'S   VISIT.  373 

him  will  rest  all  authority  and  direction  over  you;  that,  how- 
ever interested  —  naturally  interested  —  I  must  continue  to 
feel  in  your  future,  he,  and  he  alone,  must  be  its  arbiter. 
I  repeat  this  now,  in  his  presence,  that  there  may  be  no  risk 
of  a  misconception." 

"Am  I  to  write  to  you,  mamma?"  asked  the  girl,  in  a 
voice  unmoved  as  her  own. 

"Yes,  you  will  write;  that  is,  I  shall  expect  to  hear  from 
you  in  reply  to  my  letters.  This  we  will  talk  over 
together." 

"Am  I  to  correspond  with  you,  sir?"  said  she,  address- 
ing Stocmar  in  the  same  impassive  way. 

"Oh!  by  all  means.  I  shall  take  it  as  the  greatest  of 
favors.     I  shall  be  charmed  if  you  will  honor  me  so  far. " 

"I  ask,  sir,"  continued  she,  "because  I  may  chance  to 
have  companions  in  the  place  to  which  I  am  going ;  and, 
even  to  satisfy  their  scruples,  one  ought  to  have  some 
belongings." 

There  was  not  the  shadow  of  irritation  in  the  manner  in 
which  these  words  were  spoken ;  and  yet  Stocmar  heard  them 
with  a  strange  thrill  of  pity,  and  Mrs.  Morris  grew  pale  as 
she  listened  to  them. 

"Clara,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  gravely,  "there  are  circum- 
stances in  our  relations  to  each  other  which  you  will  only 
learn  when  we  have  parted.  I  have  committed  them  to 
writing  for  your  own  eye  alone.  They  will  explain  the 
urgency  of  the  step  I  am  now  taking,  as  much  for  your  sake 
as  for  7mne.  When  you  have  read  and  carefully  pondered 
over  that  paper,  you  will  be  convinced  that  this  separation 
is  of  necessity." 

Clara  bowed  lier  head  in  assent,  but  did  not  speak. 

"You  will  also  see,  Clara,"  resumed  she,  "that  it  is  very 
far  from  likely  the  old  relations  between  us  will  ever  again 
be  resumed.  If  we  do  meet  again,  —  an  event  that  may  or 
may  not  liappen, —  it  will  be  as  some  distant  cousins, —  some 
who  have  ties  of  kindred  between  them,  and  no  more." 

Clara  nodded  again,  but  still  in  silence. 

"You  see,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  turning  towards  Stoc- 
mar, while  her  eyes  flashed  angrily,  —  "you  see,  sir,  that  I 
am  handing  over  to  your  care  a  model  of  obedience,  —  a 


374  ONE  OF  THEM. 

young  lady  who  has  no  will  save  that  of  those  in  authority 
over  her,  —  not  one  rebellious  sentiment  of  affection  or  at- 
tachment in  her  nature." 

"  And  who  will  ever  strive  to  preserve  your  good  opinions, 
sir,  by  persevering  in  this  wise  course,"  said  Clara,  with  a 
modest  courtesy. 

If  any  one  could  have  read  Mr.  Stocmar's  heart  at  that 
moment,  he  would  have  detected  no  very  benevolent  feelings 
towards  either  mother  or  daughter,  while  he  sincerely  de- 
plored his  own  fate  at  being  in  such  company. 

"Don't  you  think,  mamma,"  said  the  girl,  with  an  easy 
smile,  "  that,  considering  how  recently  we  have  known  this 
gentleman,  we  have  been  sufficiently  explicit  and  candid 
before  him,  and  that  any  pretence  of  emotion  in  his  pres- 
ence would  be  most  unbecoming?  He  will,  I  am  sure,  for- 
give us  the  omission.     Won't  you,  sir?  " 

Stocmar  smiled  and  bowed,  and  blushed  and  looked 
miserable. 

"  You  have  been  very  candid,  at  all  events,  Clara,"  said 
Mrs.  Morris;  "and  Mr.  Stocmar  —  or  I  mistake  him  much 
—  must  have  acquired  a  considerable  insight  into  the  nature 
of  his  charge.  Sir  William  expects  to  see  you  at  dinner 
to-day,  Clara,"  added  she,  in  an  easier  tone.  "He  hopes  to 
be  well  enough  to  come  to  table ;  and  as  it  will  be  your  last 
evening  here  —  " 

"So  it  will,"  said  the  girl,  quickly;  "and  I  must  fetch 
down  Beethoven  with  me,  and  play  his  favorites  for  him 
once  more." 

Mrs.  Morris  raised  her  eyebrows  with  an  expressive  look 
at  Stocmar,  and  led  him  from  the  room.  Scarcely  had  the 
door  closed,  when  the  girl  threw  herself,  half  kneeling,  on 
the  sofa,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  very  heart  was  breaking. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 

VERY    OUTSPOKEN    ON    THE    WORLD    AT    LARGE. 

And  there  came  a  next  morning  to  all  this.  Oh,  these  same 
next  mornings  of  life!  —  strange  leaves  in  that  book  of  our 
daily  existence,  now  dark  and  black-lettered,  now  bright  in 
all  the  glories  of  golden  tracery !  For  so  is  it,  each  day  is 
a  fresh  page  to  be  written  "with  chalk  or  charcoal,"  as  it 
may  be. 

Two  travelling-carriages  took  their  way  from  Florence  on 
that  morning, — one  for  Bologna,  with  Mr.  Stocmar  and 
Clara;  the  other  for  Rome,  with  the  Heathcotes,  Captain 
Holmes  having  his  place  in  the  rumble.  Old  soldier  that 
he  was,  he  liked  the  open-air  seat,  where  he  could  smoke  his 
cigar  and  see  the  country.  Of  all  those  who  journeyed  in 
either,  none  could  vie  with  him  in  the  air  of  easy  enjoyment 
that  he  wore;  and  even  the  smart  Swiss  maid  at  his  side, 
though  she  might  have  preferred  a  younger  companion,  was 
fain  to  own,  in  her  own  peculiar  English,  that  he  was  full  of 
little  bounties  (hontes)  in  her  regard.  And  when  they  halted 
to  bait,  he  was  so  amiable  and  full  of  attentions  to  every 
one,  exerting  the  very  smallest  vocabulary  to  provide  all  that 
was  needed ;  never  abashed  by  failure  or  provoked  by  ridi- 
cule; always  good-tempered,  always  gay.  It  was  better 
than  colchicum  to  Sir  William  to  see  the  little  fat  man 
washing  the  salad  himself  at  the  fountain,  surrounded  by 
all  the  laughing  damsels  of  the  hostel,  who  jeered  him  on 
every  stage  of  his  performance;  and  even  May,  whose  eyes 
were  red  with  crying  after  Clara,  had  to  laugh  at  the  disas- 
ters of  his  cookery  and  the  blunders  of  his  Italian.  And 
then  he  gossiped  about  with  landlords  and  postboys,  till  he 
knew  of  every  one  who  had  come  or  was  coming ;  what  car- 
riages, full  of  Russian  Princes,  could  not  get  forward  for 


376  ONE   OF  THEM. 

want  of  horses,  and  what  vetturinos,  full  of  English,  had 
been  robbed  of  everything.  He  had  the  latest  intelligence 
about  Garibaldi,  and  the  names  of  the  last  six  Sicilian 
Dukes  shot  by  the  King  of  Naples.  Was  he  not  up,  too,  in 
his  John  Murray,  which  he  read  whenever  Mademoiselle 
Virginia  was  asleep,  and  sold  out  in  retail  at  every  change 
of  post-horses? 

Is  it  not  strange  that  this  is  exactly  the  sort  of  person 
one  needs  on  a  journey,  and  yet  is  only  by  the  merest  acci- 
dent to  be  chanced  upon?  We  never  forget  the  courier, 
nor  the  valet,  nor  the  soubrette,  but  the  really  invaluable 
creature,  —  the  man  who  learns  the  name  of  every  village, 
the  value  of  all  coinage,  the  spot  that  yields  good  wine,  the 
town  where  the  peaches  are  fullest  of  flavor,  or  the  roses 
richest  in  perfume ;  we  leave  him  to  be  picked  up  at  hazard, 
if  picked  up  at  all.  It  is  an  unaccountable  prejudice  that 
makes  the  parasite  unpopular.  For  who  is  it  that  relieves 
life  of  much  of  its  asperities,  —  who  is  it  that  provides  so 
unceasingly  that  our  capon  should  be  well  roasted  and  our 
temper  unruffled,  —  who,  like  him,  to  secure  all  the  available 
advantages  of  the  road,  and,  when  disasters  will  occur,  to 
make  them  food  for  laughter? 

How  patient,  how  self-sacrificing,  how  deferential  to 
caprices  and  indulgent  to  whims  is  the  man  whose  daily 
dinner  you  pay  for!  If  you  would  see  humanity  in  holiday 
attire,  look  out  for  one  like  him.  How  blandly  does  he 
forgive  the  rascalities  of  ijour  servants  and  the  robberies 
of  ijour  tradesmen!  No  fretfulness  about  trifles  disfigures 
the  calm  serenity  of  his  features.  He  knows  that  if  the 
travelling-carriage  be  thought  heavy,  it  is  only  two  leaders 
the  more  are  required;  if  the  wine  be  corked,  it  is  but 
ordering  another  bottle.  Look  at  life  from  his  point  of  view, 
and  it  is  surprising  how  little  there  is  to  complain  of.  It 
would  be  too  much  to  say  that  there  was  not  occasionally  a 
little  acting  in  all  this  catholic  benevolence  and  universal 
satisfaction,  but  no  more,  perhaps,  than  the  fervor  of  a 
lawyer  for  his  client,  —  that  nisi  prius  enthusiasm  marked 
five  guineas  on  the  brief. 

The  Captain  understood  his  part  like  an  artist;  and 
through  all  the  condescending  forgiveness  he  bestowed  on 


VERY  OUTSPOKEN  ON  THE  WORLD  AT  LARGE.      377 

the  shortcomings  of  inus  aud  innkeepers,  he  suffered,  ever 
half  imperceptibly,  to  peer  out  the  habits  of  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  the  best  of  everything,  who  always  had  been  sedu- 
lously served  and  admirably  cared  for.  His  indulgence 
was  thus  geuerosit}',  not  ignorance,  and  all  irritability  in 
such  a  presence  would  stand  rebuked  at  once. 

Sir  William  declared  he  had  never  seen  his  equal,  —  such 
temper,  such  tact,  such  resources  in  difficulty,  such  patience 
under  all  trials.  May  pronounced  him  charming.  He 
could  obtain  something  eatable  in  the  veriest  desolation,  he 
could  extract  a  laugh  out  of  disasters  that  seemed  to  defy 
drollery;  and,  lastly,  Mrs.  Morris  herself  averred  "that  he 
was  unlike  every  old  Indian  she  had  ever  seen,  for  he 
seemed  not  to  know  what  selfishness  meant, —  bin  so,  indeed, 
'  poor  Penthony  '  had  always  described  him."  And  here  she 
would  wipe  her  eyes  and  turn  away  in  silence. 

As  they  rolled  along  the  road,  many  a  little  scheme  was 
devised  for  detaining  him  at  Rome,  many  a  little  plot  laid 
for  making  him  pass  the  carnival  with  them.  Little  knew 
they  the  while,  how,  seated  in  the  rumble  close  behind,  he 
too  revolved  the  self-same  thoughts,  asking  himself  bj^  what 
means  he  could  secure  so  pleasant  a  harbor  of  refuge.  Will 
it  not  occasionally  occur  in  life  that  some  of  those  successes 
on  which  we  pride  ourselves  have  been  in  a  measure  pre- 
pared by  others,  and  that  the  adversary  has  helped  us  to 
win  the  game  we  are  so  vain  of  having  scored  ? 

■•Well,  how  do  you  like  them?"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  as  she 
smoked  her  cigarette  at  the  end  of  the  little  garden  at 
Viterbo,  after  Sir  William  and  May  had  said  good-night, 
—  "how  do  you  like  them,  pa?" 

"They  're  wonderful, —  they  're  wonderful !  "  said  the  Cap- 
tain, puffing  his  weed.  "It's  a  long  time  since  I  met  any- 
thing so  fresh  as  that  old  Baronet." 

"And  with  all  that,"  said  she,  "his  great  vanity  is  to 
think  he  knows  '  the  world.'  " 

"So  he  may,  my  dear.  I  can  only  say  it  is  n't  your  world 
nor  7nine,"  replied  he,  laughing. 

"And  yet  there  is  a  class  in  which  such  men  as  he  are  the 
clever  ones,  where  their  remarks  are  listened  to  and  their 
observations   treasured,   and  where   old   ladies   in  turbans 


378  ONE   OF   THEM. 

aud  bird-of-paradise  feathers  pronounce  them  '  such  well- 
informed  men.'     Isn't  that  the  phrase,  pa?" 

"Yes,  that 's  the  phrase.  An  old  article  of  the  '  Quarterly  ' 
committed  to  memory,  some  of  Dr.  Somebody's  predic- 
tions about  the  end  of  the  world,  and  Solomon's  proverbs 
done  into  modern  English,  make  a  very  well-informed 
man." 

"And  a  most  insupportable  bore,  besides.  After  all, 
papa,"  said  she,  "it  is  in  the  landlocked  creeks,  the  little 
waveless  bays,  that  one  must  seek  his  anchorage,  and  not  in 
the  breezy  roadsteads  nor  the  open  ocean.  I  've  thought 
over  the  matter  a  good  deal  lately,  and  I  believe  that  to  be 
the  wise  choice." 

"■You  are  right,  Loo,"  said  he;  "ease  is  the  great 
thing,  —  ease  and  security !  What  settlement  can  he 
make?  " 

"A  small  one ;  just  enough  to  live  on.  The  son  would  be 
better  in  that  respect,  but  then  I  shouldn't  like  it;  and, 
besides,  he  would  live  as  long  as  myself,  —  longer,  perhaps, 
—  and  you  know  one  likes  to  have  a  look  forward,  though  it 
be  ever  so  far  away  off." 

"Very  true, —  very  true,"  said  he,  with  a  mild  sigh.  "And 
this  Miss  Leslie,"  added  he,  after  a  while;  "she  '11  marry, 
I  suppose  ? " 

"Oh  yes;  her  fortune  will  still  be  considerable,  —  at 
least,  I  hope  so.  That  man  Trover  has  taken  all  the  papers 
away  with  him,  but  he  '11  turn  up  some  day  or  other.  At 
all  events,  there  will  be  quite  enough  to  get  her  a  Roman 
Count  or  a  Sicilian  Duke ;  and  as  they  are  usually  sent  to 
the  galleys  or  shot  in  a  few  years,  the  endurance  is  not  pro- 
longed. These  are  Trover's  cigars,  ain't  they?  I  know 
them  well." 

"Yes;  it  was  your  friend  Stocmar  filled  my  case 
yesterday." 

"Another  of  the  would-be  shrewd  ones!"  said  she, 
laughing. 

"I  did  n't  fancy  him  much,"  said  he. 

"Nor  I,  either;  he  is  such  a  snob.  Now,  one  can't  live 
with  a  snob,  though  one  may  dine  with  him,  smoke,  flirt, 
ride,  and  chat  with  him.     Is  it  not  so?" 


VERY  OUTSPOKEN  ON  THE  WORLD  AT  LARGE.   379 

"Perfectly  true." 

"Sir  William  is  not  snobbish.  It  is  his  oue  redeeming 
quality." 

"I  see  that.     I  remarked  it  the  first  day  we  met." 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  "  sighed  she,  drearily,  "what  a  tame, 
poor,  commonplace  thing  life  becomes  when  it  is  reduced 
to  English  cookery  for  health,  and  respectability  for  morals! 
I  could  marry  Stocmar  if  I  pleased,  papa." 

"Of  course  you  could." 

"Or  O'Shea, — 'the  O'Shea,'"  said  she,  with  a  laugh. 
"How  droll  to  be  the  '  she'  of  that  species!  1  could  have 
Jmn  also." 

"Not  also,  but  either,  dear,"  said  the  Captain,  correcting 
her. 

"I  meant  that,  papa,"  laughed  she  in,  "though,  perhaps 
—  perhaps  poor  Mr.  Ogden  mightn't  see  that  your  objection 
was  called  for."  And  then  they  both  laughed  once  more  at 
the  droll  conceit.  "We  are  to  be  married  on  some  day 
before  Lent,"  said  she,  after  a  pause.  "I  must  positively 
get  an  almanac,  papa,  or  I  shall  make  confusion  in  my 
dates." 

"The  Lent  begins  late  this  year,"  remarked  he. 

"Does  it?  So  much  the  better,  for  there  is  much  to  be 
thought  of.  I  trust  to  you  for  the  settlements,  papa.  You 
will  have  to  be  inexorable  on  every  stage  of  the  proceed- 
ings; and  as  for  me,  I  know  nothing  of  business,  — never 
did,  never  could." 

"But  that  is  not  exactly  the  character  you  have  figured  in 
here  of  late." 

"Oh,  papa  dear,"  cried  she,  "do  you  imagine,  if  reason 
or  judgment  were  to  be  invoked,  that  Sir  William  would 
ever  marry  me?  Is  it  not  because  he  is  blind  to  every  in- 
consistency and  every  contradiction  that  the  poor  man  has 
decided  on  this  step  ?  " 

"Where  do  you  mean  to  live?  Have  you  any  plans  on 
that  score  ?  " 

"None,  except  where  there  are  fewest  English;  the  small- 
est possible  population  of  red  whiskers  and  red  petticoats, 
and  the  least  admixture  of  bad  tongues  and  Balmoral  boots. 
If  we  cannot  find  such  a  spot,  then  a  city,  —  a  large  city, 


380  ONE   OF  THEM. 

where  people  have  too  many  resources  to  be  obliged  to  amuse 
themselves  with  scandal." 

"That's  true;  I  have  always  remarked  that  where  the 
markets  were  good,  and  fish  especially  abundant,  people 
were  less  censorious.  In  small  localities,  where  one  eats 
kid  every  day,  the  tendency  to  tear  your  neighbor  becomes 
irresistible.  I  'm  convinced  that  the  bad  tongue  of  boarding- 
house  people  may  be  ascribed  to  the  bad  diet." 

"Perfectly  true,  papa;  and  when  you  dine  with  us,  you 
shall  have  no  excuse  for  malevolence.  There,"  said  she, 
throwing  away  the  end  of  her  cigar,  "I  can't  afford  to  light 
another  one  this  evening,  I  have  got  so  few  of  those  deli- 
cious Cubans.  Oh  dear,"  sighed  she,  "what  a  strange  des- 
tiny is  mine !  Whenever  I  enter  the  marriage  state,  it  must 
always  be  with  a  connection  where  there  are  no  small  vices, 
and  /  fond  of  them !  " 

And  so  saying,  she  drew  her  shawl  around  her,  and 
strolled  lazily  towards  the  house,  while  the  Captain,  select- 
ing another  cheroot,  sat  himself  down  in  a  snug  spot  in  the 
arbor  to  muse,  and  meditate,  and  moralize  after  his  fashion. 
Had  any  one  been  there  to  mark  him  as  he  gazed  upwards 
at  the  starry  sky,  he  might  readily  have  deemed  him  one  lost 
in  heavenly  contemplation,  deep  in  that  speculative  wisdom 
that  leaves  the  frontier  of  this  narrow  life  far,  far  behind, 
and  soars  to  realms  nobler,  vaster,  grander.  But  not  so 
were  his  thoughts ;  they  were  earthy  of  the  earthiest,  craft 
and  subtlety  crossed  and  recrossed  them,  and  in  all  their 
complex  web  not  one  chord  was  to  be  found  which  could 
vibrate  with  an  honest  wish  or  a  generous  aspiration. 
There  was  not,  nevertheless,  a  ruddier  complexion,  a 
brighter  eye,  a  merrier  voice,  or  a  better  digestion  than  his 
in  Christendom. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

FROM    CLARA. 

It  was  just  as  Alfred  Laytou  stepped  into  the  boat  to  row 
out  to  the  "Asia,"  bound  for  New  York,  that  a  letter  from 
Clara  was  placed  in  his  hands.  He  read  it  as  they  rowed 
along, —  read  it  twice,  thrice  over.  It  was  a  strange  letter  — 
at  least,  he  thought  so  —  from  one  so  very  young.  There 
was  a  tone  of  frankness  almost  sisterly,  but  there  was,  in 
alluding  to  the  happy  past,  a  something  of  tenderness  half 
shadowed  forth  that  thrilled  strangely  through  his  heart. 
How  she  seemed  to  love  those  lessons  he  had  once  thought 
she  felt  to  be  mere  tasks !  How  man}'  words  he  had  uttered 
at  random,  —  words  of  praise  or  blame,  as  it  might  be ;  she 
had  treasured  all  up,  just  as  she  had  hoarded  the  flowers  he 
had  given  her.  What  a  wondrous  sensation  it  is  to  feel 
that  a  chance  expression  we  have  used,  a  few  stray  words, 
have  been  stored  up  as  precious  memories!  Is  there  any 
flattery  like  it?  What  an  ecstasy  to  feel  that  we  could  im- 
part value  to  the  veriest  commonplace,  and,  without  an 
effort,  without  even  a  will,  sit  enthroned  within  some  other 
heart ! 

What  wisdom  there  was  in  that  old  fable  of  the  husband- 
man, who  bequeathed  the  treasure  to  his  sons  to  be  discov- 
ered by  carefully  turning  over  the  soil  of  their  land,  delving 
and  digging  it  industriously !  How  applicable  is  the  lesson 
it  teaches  to  what  goes  on  in  our  daily  lives,  where,  ever  in 
search  of  one  form  of  wealth,  our  labors  lead  us  to  discover 
some  other  of  which  we  knew  nothing!  Little  had  Alfred 
Layton  ever  suspected  that,  while  seeking  to  gain  May's 
affection,  he  was  winning  another  heart;  little  knew  he  that 
in  that  atmosphere  of  love  his  deep  devotion  made,  she  — 
scared V  more  than  a  child  —  lived  and  breathed,  mingling 


382  ONE   OF  THEM. 

thoughts  of  him  through  all  the  efforts  of  her  mind,  till  he 
became  the  mainspring  of  every  ambition  that  possessed  her. 
And  now  he  knew  it  all.  Yes,  she  confessed,  as  one  never 
again  fated  to  meet  him,  that  she  loved  him.  "If,"  wrote 
she,  "  it  is  inexpressible  relief  to  me  to  own  this,  I  can  do 
so  with  less  shame  that  I  ask  no  return  of  affection;  I  give 
you  my  heart,  as  I  give  that  which  has  no  value,  save  that  I 
feel  it  is  with  you^  to  go  along  with  you  through  all  the 
straits  and  difficulties  of  your  life,  to  nourish  hope  for  your 
success  and  sorrow  for  your  failure,  but  never  to  meet  you 
more.  .  .  .  Nor,"  said  she,  in  another  place,  "do  I  disguise 
from  myself  the  danger  of  this  confession.  They  say  it  is 
man's  nature  to  despise  the  gift  which  comes  unasked, —  the 
unsought  heart  is  but  an  undesired  realm.  Be  it  so.  So 
long  as  the  thought  fills  me  that  you  are  its  lord,  so  long  as 
to  myself  I  whisper  vows  of  loyalty,  I  am  not  worthless  in 
my  own  esteem.  I  can  say,  '  He  would  like  this;  he  would 
praise  me  for  that;  some  word  of  good  cheer  would  aid  me 
here;  how  joyously  he  would  greet  me  as  I  reached  this 
goal ! '  '  Bravely  borne,  dear  Clara !  '  would  requite  me  for  a 
cruel  sacrifice.  You  are  too  generous  to  deny  me  this  much, 
and  I  ask  no  more.  None  of  us  can  be  the  worse  of  good 
wishes,  none  be  less  fortunate  that  daily  blessings  are 
entreated  for  us.  Mine  go  with  you  everywhere  and 
always." 

These  lines,  read  and  re-read  so  often,  weighed  heavily 
on  Layton's  heart;  and  she  who  wrote  them  was  never  for 
an  instant  from  his  thoughts.  At  first,  sorrow  and  a  sense 
of  self-reproach  were  his  only  sentiments;  but  gradually 
another  feeling  supervened.  There  is  not  anything  which 
supplies  to  the  heart  the  want  of  being  cared  for.  There  is 
that  companionship  in  being  loved,  without  which  life  is  the 
dreariest  of  all  solitudes.  As  we  are  obliged  to  refer  all  our 
actions  to  a  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  so  by  a  like  rule 
all  our  emotions  must  be  brought  before  another  court,  — 
the  heart  that  loves  us ;  and  he  who  has  not  this  appeal  is 
a  wretched  outlaw!  This  Layton  now  began  to  feel,  and 
every  day  strengthened  the  conviction.  The  last  few  lines 
of  the  letter,  too,  gave  an  unspeakable  interest  to  the  whole. 
They  ran  thus :  — 


-       FROM  CLARA.  383 

"I  know  not  what  change  has  come  over  my  life,  or  is  to 
come,  but  I  am  to  be  separated  from  my  mother,  intrusted 
to  a  guardian  I  have  never  seen  till  now,  and  sent  I  know 
not  whither.  All  that  I  am  told  is  that  our  narrow  fortune 
requires  I  should  make  an  effort  for  my  own  support.  I 
am  grateful  to  the  adversity  that  snatches  me  from  a  life 
of  thought  to  one  of  labor.  The  weariness  of  work  will  be 
far  easier  to  bear  than  the  repinings  of  indolence.  Self- 
reproach  will  be  less  poignant,  too,  when  not  associated 
with  self-indulgence ;  and,  better  than  all,  a  thousand  times 
better,  I  shall  feel  in  my  toil  some  similitude  to  him  whom 
I  love,  —  feel,  when  my  tired  brain  seeks  rest,  some  unseen 
thread  links  my  weariness  to  his,  and  blends  our  thoughts 
together  in  our  dreams,  fellow-laborers  at  least  in  life,  if 
not  lovers !  " 

When  he  had  read  thus  far,  and  was  still  contemplating 
the  lines,  a  small  slip,  carefully  sealed  in  two  places,  fell 
from  the  letter.  It  was  inscribed  "My  Secret."  Alfred 
tore  it  open  eagerly.  The  contents  were  very  brief,  and 
ran  thus :  — 

"She  whom  T  had  believed  to  be  my  mother  is  not  so. 
She  is  nothing  to  me.  I  am  an  orphan.  I  know  nothing  of 
those  belonging  to  me,  nor  of  myself,  any  more  than  that 
my  name  is  not^  '  Clara  Morris.'  " 

Lay  ton's  first  impulse,  as  he  read,  was  to  exclaim,  "Thank 
God,  the  dear  child  has  no  tie  to  this  woman ! "  The 
thought  of  her  being  her  daughter  was  maddening.  And 
then  arose  the  question  to  his  mind,  by  what  link  had  they 
been  united  hitherto?  Mrs.  Morris  had  been  ever  to  him  a 
mysterious  personage,  for  whom  he  had  invented  number- 
less histories,  not  always  to  her  advantage.  But  why  or 
through  what  circumstances  this  girl  had  been  associated 
with  her  fortunes,  was  a  knot  he  could  find  no  clew  to. 
There  arose,  besides,  another  question,  why  should  this  con- 
nection now  cease,  by  what  change  in  condition  were  they 
to  be  separated,  and  was  the  separation  to  be  complete  and 
final?  Clara  ought  to  have  told  him  more;  she  should  have 
been  more  explicit.  It  was  unfair  to  leave  him  with  an 
unsolved  difficulty  which  a  few  words  might  have  set  clear. 
He  was  half  angry  with  her  for  the  torture  of  this  uncer- 


384  ONE  OF  THEM. 

tainty,  and  yet  —  let  us  own  it  —  in  his  secret  heart  he 
hugged  this  mystery  as  a  new  interest  that  attached  him  to 
life.  Let  a  man  have  ever  so  little  of  the  gambler  in  his 
nature,  —  and  we  have  never  pictured  Layton  as  amongst 
that  prudent  category,  —  and  there  will  be  still  a  tendency  to 
weigh  the  eventualities  of  life,  as  chances  inclining  now  to 
this  side,  now  to  that.  "I  was  lucky  in  that  affair,"  "I 
was  unfortunate  there,"  are  expressions  occasionally  heard 
from  those  who  have  never  played  a  card  or  touched  a  dice- 
box.  And  where  does  this  same  element  play  such  a  part  as 
when  a  cloud  of  doubt  and  obscurity  involves  the  fate  of  one 
we  love? 

For  the  first  few  days  of  the  voyage  Layton  thought  of 
nothing  but  Clara  and  her  history,  till  his  mind  grew  actually 
confused  with  conflicting  guesses  about  her.  "  I  must  tell 
Quackinboss  everything.  I  must  ask  his  aid  to  read  this 
mystery,  or  it  will  drive  me  mad,"  said  he,  at  last.  "  He  has 
seen  her,  too,  and  liked  her."  She  was  the  one  solitary  fig- 
ure he  had  met  with  at  the  Villa  which  seemed  to  have  made 
a  deep  impression  upon  him ;  and  over  and  over  again  the 
American  had  alluded  to  the  "  '  little  gal '  with  the  long  eye- 
lashes, who  sang  so  sweetly." 

It  was  not  very  easy  to  catch  the  Colonel  in  an  unoccupied 
moment.  Ever  since  the  voyage  began  he  was  full  of  engage- 
ments. He  was  an  old  Transatlantic  voyager,  deep  in  all  the 
arts  and  appliances  by  which  such  journeys  are  rendered 
agreeable.  Such  men  turn  up  everywhere.  On  the  Cunard 
line  they  organize  the  whist-parties,  the  polka  on  the  poop- 
deck,  the  sweepstakes  on  the  ship's  log,  and  the  cod-fishing 
on  the  banks.  On  the  overland  route  it  is  they  who  direct 
where  tents  are  to  be  pitched,  kids  roasted,  and  Arabs  horse- 
whipped. By  a  sort  of  common  accord  a  degree  of  command 
is  conceded  to  them,  and  their  authority  is  admitted  without 
dispute.  Now  and  then  a  rival  will  contest  the  crown,  and 
by  his  party  divide  the  state ;  but  the  community  is  large 
enough  for  such  schism,  which,  after  all,  is  rarely  a  serious 
one.  The  Pretender,  in  the  present  case,  had  come  on  board 
by  the  small  vessel  which  took  the  pilot  away. — a  circumstance 
not  without  suspicion,  and,  of  course,  certain  of  obtaining  its 
share  of  disparaging  comments,  not  the  less  that  the  gentle- 


'-      FROM   CLARA.  385 

man's  pretensions  were  considerable,  and  his  manners  impos- 
ing. In  fact,  to  use  a  vulgarism  very  expressive  of  the  man, 
"  be  took  on  "  immensely.  He  was  very  indignant  at  not 
finding  his  servant  expecting  him,  and  actually  out  of  him- 
self on  discovering  that  a  whole  stateroom  had  not  been  en- 
gaged for  his  accommodation.  With  all  these  disappointing 
circumstances,  it  was  curious  enough  how  soon  he  reconciled 
himself  to  his  condition,  submitting  with  great  good-humor 
to  all  the  privations  of  ordinary  mortals ;  and  when,  on  the 
third  or  fourth  day  of  the  voyage,  he  deigned  to  say  that  he 
had  drunk  worse  Madeira,  and  that  the  clam  soup  was  really 
worthy  of  his  approval,  his  popularity  was  at  once  assured. 
It  was  really  pleasant  to  witness  such  condescension,  and  so, 
indeed,  every  one  seemed  to  feel  it.  All  but  oue,  and  that 
one  was  Quackinboss,  who,  from  the  first  moment,  had  con- 
ceived a  strong  dislike  against  the  new  arrival,  a  sentiment 
he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  or  disguise. 

"  He  's  too  p'lite, —  he  's  too  civil  by  half,  sir,  —  especially 
with  the  women  folk,"  said  Quackinboss  ;  "  they  ain't  whole- 
some when  they  are  so  tarnation  sweet.  As  Senator  Byles 
says,  '  Bunkum  won't  make  pie-crust,  though  it  '11  serve  to 
butter  a  man  up.'  Them  's  my  own  sentiments  too,  sir,  and 
I  don't  like  that  stranger." 

"  What  can  it  signify  to  you.  Colonel?"  said  Layton. 
"  Why  need  you  trouble  your  head  about  who  or  what  he 
is  ?  " 

"  I  '11  be  bound  he  's  one  of  them  as  pays  his  debts  with  the 
topsail  sheet,  sir.  He's  run.  I'm  as  sartain  o'  that  fact  as 
if  I  seen  it.  Whenever  I  see  a  party  as  won't  play  whist 
under  five-guinea  points,  or  drink  anything  cheaper  than 
Moet  at  four  dollars  a  bottle,  I  say  look  arter  that  chap, 
.Shaver,  and  you  '11  see  it 's  another  man's  money  pays  for 
him." 

"  But,  after  all,"  remonstrated  Layton,  "  surely  you  have 
nothing  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  not  downright  convinced  on  that  score. 
He 's  a-come  from  Florence ;  he  knows  all  about  the  Heath- 
cotes  and  jNIrs.  Morris,  and  the  other  folk  there ;  and  he  has 
either  swindled  fhr)/i^  or  they  've  been  a-roguing  some  others. 
25 


386  ONE   OF  THEM. 

That 's  my  platform,  sir,  and  I  '11  not  change  one  plank  of 
it." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Layton,  laughingly,  "  for  the  first 
time  in  your  life  you  have  suffered  a  prejudice  to  override 
your  shrewd  good  sense.     The  man  is  a  snob,  and  no  more." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  'd  like  to  ask,  could  you  say  worse  of  him? 
Aiu't  a  snob  a  fellow  as  wants  to  be  taken  for  better  bred 
or  richer  or  cleverer  or  more  influential  than  he  really  is? 
Ain't  he  a  cheat  ?  Ain't  he  one  as  says,  '  I  ain't  like  that 
poor  publican  yonder,  I  'm  another  guess  sort  of  crittur,  and 
sit  in  quite  another  sort  of  place?'  Jest  now,  picture  to 
your  own  mind  how  pleasant  the  world  would  be  if  one- 
fourth,  or  even  one-tenth,  of  its  inhabitants  was  fellows  of 
that  stamp !  " 

It  was  only  after  two  or  three  turns  on  the  deck  that  Lay- 
ton  could  subdue  the  Colonel's  indignation  sufficiently  to 
make  him  listen  to  him  with  calm  and  attention.  AVith  a 
very  brief  preamble  he  read  Clara's  letter  for  him,  conclud- 
ing all  with  the  few  lines  inscribed  "My  Secret."  "It  is 
about  this  I  want  your  advice,  dear  friend,"  said  he.  "  Tell 
me  frankly  what  3'ou  think  of  it  all." 

Quackinboss  was  always  pleased  when  asked  his  advice 
upon  matters  which  at  first  blush  might  seem  out  of  the 
range  of  his  usual  experiences.  It  seemed  such  a  tribute  to 
his  general  knowledge  of  life,  that  it  was  a  very  graceful 
species  of  flattery,  so  that  he  was  really  delighted  by  this 
proof  of  Layton's  confidence  in  his  acuteness  and  his  delicacy, 
and  in  the  exact  proportion  of  the  satisfaction  he  felt  was  he 
disposed  to  be  diffuse  and  long-wdnded. 

"  This  ain't  an  easy  case,  sir,"  began  he ;  "  this  ain't  one 
of  those  measures  where  a  man  may  say,  '  There  's  the  right 
and  there  's  the  wrong  of  it ;  '  and  it  takes  a  man  like  Shaver 
Quackinboss  —  a  man  as  has  seen  snakes  with  all  manner  o* 
spots  on  'em  — to  know  what's  best  to  be  done." 

"  So  I  thought,"  mildly  broke  in  Layton,  —  "  so  I  thought." 

"  There  's  chaps  in  this  world,"  continued  he,  "  never  sees 
a  difficulty  nowhere  ;  they  'd  whittle  a  hickory  stick  with  the 
same  blade  as  a  piece  of  larch  timber,  sir ;  ay,  and  worse, 
too,  never  know^  how  the}'  gapped  their  knife  for  the  doin'  it ! 
You  'd  not  believe  it,  perhaps,  but  the  wiliest  cove  ever  I  seen 


"      FROM   CLARA.  387 

in  life  was  an  old  chief  of  the  Manclans,  Ai-ha-ha-tha,  and 
his  rule  was,  when  you  're  on  a  trail,  track  it  step  by  step  ; 
never  take  short  cuts.  Let  us  read  the  girl's  letter  again." 
And  he  did  so  carefully,  painstakingly,  folding  it  up  after- 
wards with  slow  deliberation,  while  he  reflected  over  the 
contents. 

"  I'm  a-thinkin',"said  he,  at  last,  —  "I'm  a-thinkin'  how 
we  might  utilize  that  stranger  there,  the  fellow  as  is  come 
from  Florence,  and  who  may  possibly  have  heard  some- 
thing of  this  girl's  history.  He  don't  take  to  me;  nor, 
for  the  matter  o"  that,  do  /to  Mm.  But  that  don't  signify; 
there  's  one  platform  brings  all  manner  of  folk  together,  — 
it's  the  great  leveller  in  this  world,  —  Play.  Ay,  sir,  your 
English  lord  has  no  objection  to  even  Uncle  Sam's  dollars, 
though  he  'd  be  riled  con-siderable  if  you  asked  him  to  sit 
down  to  meals  with  him.  I  '11  jest  let  this  crittur  plunder 
me  a  bit ;  I  '11  flatter  him  with  the  notion  that  he 's  too 
shai'p  and  too  spry  for  the  Yankee.  He 's  always  goin' 
about  asking  every  one,  'Can't  they  make  a  game  o'brag?' 
"Well,  I  '11  go  in,  sir.  He  shall  have  his  game,  and  /'ll  have 
mine." 

Layton  did  not  certainly  feel  much  confidence  in  the  plan  of 
campaign  thus  struck  out ;  but  seeing  the  pleasure  Quackin- 
boss  felt  in  the  display  of  his  acuteness,  he  offered  no  objec- 
tion to  the  project. 

'"  Yes,  sir,"  continued  Quackinboss,  as  though  reflecting 
aloud,  "  once  these  sort  of  critturs  think  a  man  a  flat,  they 
let  out  all  about  how  sharp  they  are  themselves ;  they  can't 
help  it ;  it 's  part  of  their  shallow  natur'  to  be  boastful.  Let 
us  see,  now,  what  it  is  we  want  to  find  out :  first  of  all,  the 
widow,  who  she  is  and  whence  she  came ;  then,  how  she 
chanced  to  have  the  gal  with  her,  and  who  the  gal  herself 
is,  where  she  was  raised,  and  by  whom  ;  and,  last  of  all, 
what  is  't  the}^  done  with  her,  how  they  've  fixed  her.  Ay, 
sir,"  mused  he,  after  a  pause,  "  as  Senator  Byles  says,  '  if 
/  don't  draw  the  badger,  I  'd  beg  the  honorable  gentleman 
to  b'lieve  that  his  own  claws  ain't  sharp  enough  to  do  it ! ' 
There's  the  very  crittur  himself,  now,  a-smokin',"  cried  he; 
"I'll  jest  go  and  ask  him  for  a  weed."  And,  so  saying, 
Quackinboss  crossed  the  deck  and  joined  the  stranger. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

QUACKINBOSSIANA. 

On  the  morning  on  which  the  great  steamer  glided  within 
the  tranquil  waters  of  Long  Island,  Quackinboss  appeared 
at  Layton's  berth,  to  announce  the  fact,  as  well  as  report 
progress  with  the  stranger.  "I  was  right,  sir,"  said  he; 
"he's  been  and  burnt  his  fingers  on  'Change;  that's  the 
reason  he 's  here.  The  crittur  was  in  the  share-market, 
and  got  his  soup  too  hot !  You  Britishers  seem  to  have 
the  bright  notion  that,  when  you've  been  done  at  home, 
you  '11  be  quite  sharp  enough  to  do  us  here,  and  so,  when- 
ever you  make  a  grand  smash  in  Leadenhall  Street,  it 's 
only  coming  over  to  Broadway!  Well,  now,  sir,  that's 
con-siderable  of  a  mistake  ;  we  understand  smashing  too,  — 
ay,  and  better  than  folk  in  the  old  country.  Look  you  here, 
sir ;  if  I  mean  to  lose  my  ship  on  the  banks,  or  in  an 
ice-drift,  or  any  other  way,  I  don't  go  and  have  her  built 
of  strong  oak  plank  and  well-seasoned  timber,  copper- 
fastened,  and  the  rest  of  it ;  but  I  run  her  up  with  light 
pine,  and  cheap  fixin's  everywhere.  She  not  only  goes  to 
pieces  the  quicker,  but  there  ain't  none  of  her  found  to  tell 
^here  it  happened,  and  how.  That 's  how  it  comes  loe  foun- 
der, and  there  's  no  noise  made  about  it ;  while  one  of  your 
chaps  goes  bumpin'  on  the  rocks  for  weeks,  with  fellows  up 
in  the  riggin',  and  life-boats  takin'  'em  off,  and  such-like,  till 
the  town  talks  of  nothing  else,  and  all  the  newspapers  are 
filled  with  pathetic  incidents,  so  that  the  very  fellows  that 
calked  her  seams  or  wove  her  canvas  are  held  up  to  public 
reprobation.  That 's  how  you  do  it,  sir,  and  that 's  where 
you  're  wrong.  "When  a  man  builds  a  cardhouse,  he  don't 
want  iron  fastenings.  I  've  explained  all  to  that  crittur 
there,  and  he  seems  to  take  it  in  wonderful." 
"  Who  is  he  —  what  is  he? "  asked  Layton. 


TJUACKINBOSSIANA.  389 

"His  name's  Trover;  firm,  Trover,  Twist,  and  Co., 
Frankfort  and  Florence,  bankers,  general  merchants,  rag 
exporters,  commission  agents,  doing  a  bit  in  the  picture  line 
and  marble  for  the  American  market,  and  sole  agents  for  the 
sale  of  Huxley's  tonic  balsam.  That's  how  he  is,"  said  the 
Colonel,  reading  the  description  from  his  note-book. 

"  I  never  heard  of  him  before." 

"  He  knows  you,  though, —  knew  you  the  moment  he  came 
aboard ;  said  you  was  tutor  to  a  lord  in  Italy,  and  that  he 
cashed  you  circular  notes  on  Stanbridge  and  Sawley.  These 
fellows  forget  nobody." 

"  AVhat  does  he  know  of  the  Heathcotes?  " 

"  Pretty  nigh  everything.  He  knows  that  the  old  Baronet 
would  be  for  makin'  a  fortune  out  of  his  ward's  money,  and 
has  gone  and  lost  a  good  slice  of  it,  and  that  the  widow  has 
been  doin'  a  bit  of  business  in  the  share-market,  in  the  same 
profitable  fashion,  —  not  but  she 's  a  rare  wide-awake  'un, 
and  sees  into  the  '  exchanges '  clear  enough.  As  to  the  gal, 
be  thinks  she  sold  her  —  " 

"  Sold  her  !  What  do  you  mean?  "  cried  Lay  ton,  in  a  voice 
of  horror. 

"Jest  this,  that  one  of  those  theatrical  fellows  as  buys 
singing-people,  and  gets  'em  taught, —  it 's  all  piping-bullfinch 
work  with  'era,  —  has  been  and  taken  her  away ;  most  prob- 
ably cheap,  too,  for  Trover  said  she  was  n't  nowise  a  rare 
article;  she  had  a  will  of  her  own,  and  was  as  likely  to  say 
'  I  won't,'  as  '  I  will.'  " 

"Good  heavens!  And  are  things  like  this  suffered, — 
are  they  endured  in  the  age  we  live  in  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  You've  got  all  your  British  sympathies  very 
full  about  negroes  and  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,'  you  're  wonder- 
ful strong  about  slavery  and  our  tyrants  down  South,  and 
you  've  something  like  fifty  thousand  born  ladies,  called 
governesses,  treated  worse  than  housemaids,  and  some  ten 
thousand  others  condemned  to  what  I  won't  speak  of,  that 
they  may  amuse  you  in  your  theatres.  I  can  tell  you,  sir, 
tliat  the  Legrees  that  walk  St.  James's  Street  and  Picca- 
dilly are  jest  as  black-hearted  as  the  fellows  in  Georgia  or 
Alabama,  though  they  carry  gold-headed  walking-sticks  in- 
stead of  cow-hides." 


390  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"But  sold  her!  "  reiterated  Layton.  "  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  Clara  has  been  given  over  to  one  of  these  people 
to  prepare  her  for  the  stage?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  he  says  his  name  's  Stocmar,  —  a  real  gentle- 
man, he  calls  him,  with  a  house  at  Brompton,  and  a  small 
yacht  at  Cowes.  They  've  rather  good  notions  about  enjoy- 
ing themselves,  these  theatre  fellows.  They  get  a  very  good 
footing  in  West  End  life,  too,  by  supplying  countesses  to 
the  nobility." 

"No,  no!"  cried  Layton,  angrily;  "you  carry  your 
prejudices  against  birth  and  class  beyond  reason  and  justice 
too." 

"Well,  I  suspect  not,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  slowly. 
"  Not  to  say  that  I  was  n't  revilin',  but  rather  a-praisin'  'em, 
for  the  supply  of  so  much  beauty  to  the  best  face-market  in 
all  Europe.  If  I  were  to  say  what's  the  finest  prerogatives 
of  one  of  your  lords,  I  know  which  I  'd  name,  sir,  and  it 
would  n't  be  wearin'  a  blue  ribbon,  and  sittin'  on  a  carved 
oak  bench  in  what  you  call  the  Upper  House  of  Parlia- 
ment." 

"  But  Clara  —  what  of  Clara?  "  cried  Layton,  impatiently. 

"  He  suspects  that  she  's  at  Milan,  a  sort  of  female  college 
they  have  there,  where  they  take  degrees  in  singin'  and 
dancin'.  All  I  hope  is  that  the  poor  child  won't  learn  any 
of  their  confounded  lazy  Italian  notions.  There's  no  people 
can  prosper,  sir,  when  their  philosophy  consists  in  Come  si 
fa  ?  Come  si  fa  ?  means  it 's  no  use  to  work,  it 's  no  good 
to  strive  ;  the  only  thing  to  do  in  life  is  to  lie  down  in  the 
shade  and  suck  oranges.  That 's  the  real  reason  they  like 
Popery,  sir,  because  they  can  even  go  to  heaven  without 
trouble,  by  paying  another  man  to  do  the  prayin'  for  'em. 
It  ain't  much  trouble  to  hire  a  saint,  when  it  only  costs  light- 
ing a  candle  to  him.  And  to  tell  me  that 's  a  nation  wants 
liberty  and  free  institutions !  No  man  wants  liberty,  sir, 
that  won't  work  for  his  bread  ;  no  man  really  cares  for 
freedom  till  he's  ready  to  earn  his  livin',  for  this  good 
reason,  that  the  love  of  liberty  must  grow  out  of  pei'sonal 
independence,  as  you  '11  see,  sir,  when  you  take  a  walk 
yonder."  And  he  pointed  to  the  tall  steeples  of  New  York 
as  he  spoke.     But  Layton  cared  little  for  the  discussion  of 


-QUACKINBOSSIANA.  391 

such  a  theme  ;  his  thoughts  had  auother  and  a  very  different 
direction. 

"  Poor  Clara  !  "  muttered  he.  "  How  is  she  to  be  rescued 
from  such  a  destiny  ?  " 

"/'d  say  by  the  energy  and  determination  of  the  man  who 
cares  for  her,"  said  Quackinboss,  boldly.  "■  Cu7ue  si  fa? 
won't  save  her,  that's  certain." 

"Can  you  learn  anything  of  the  poor  child's  history  from 
this  man,  or  does  he  know  it?  " 

"Well,  sir,"  drawled  out  the  Colonel,  "that  ain't  so  easy 
to  say.  Whether  a  man  has  a  partic'lar  piece  of  knowledge 
in  his  head,  or  whether  a  quartz  rock  has  a  streak  of  gold 
inside  of  it,  is  things  only  to  be  learned  in  the  one  way,  — • 
by  hammering,  — ay,  sir,  by  hammering!  Now,  it  strikes 
me  this  Trover  don't  like  hammering;  first  of  all,  the  sight 
of  you  here  has  made  him  suspicious  —  " 

"Not  impossible  is  it  that  he  may  have  seen  you  also, 
Colonel,"  broke  in  Layton. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  other,  drawing  himself  proudly  up, 
"and  if  he  had,  what  of  it?  You  don't  fancy  that  we  are 
like  the  Britishers?  You  don't  imagine  that  when  we 
appear  in  Eu-rclpe  that  every  one  turns  round  and  whispers, 
'  That 's  a  gentleman  from  the  United  States  '  ?  No,  sir,  it 
is  the  remarkable  gift  of  our  people  to  be  cosmopolite.  We 
pass  for  Russian,  French,  Spanish,  or  Italian,  jest  as  we 
like,  not  from  our  skill  in  language,  which  we  do  not  all 
possess,  so  much  as  a  certain  easy  imitation  of  the  nat-Ive 
that  comes  nat'ral  to  us.  Even  our  Western  people,  sir, 
with  very  remarkable  features  of  their  own,  have  this  prop- 
erty ;  and  you  may  put  a  man  from  Kentucky  down  on  the 
Boulevard  de  Gand  to-morrow,  and  no  one  will  be  able 
to  say  he  warn't  a  born  Frenchman!" 

"I  certainly  have  not  made  that  observation  hitherto," 
said  Layton,  dryly. 

"Possibly  not,  sir,  because  your  national  pride  is  offended 
by  our  never  imitating  t/ou/     No,  sir,  we  never  do  that!  " 

"But  won't  you  own  that  you  might  find  as  worthy  models 
in  England  as  in  France  or  Italy  ?  " 

"Not  for  us,  sir, — not  for  us.  Besides,  we  find  our- 
eelves  at  home  on  the  Continent;  we  don't  with  i/ou.     The 


392  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Frenchman  is  never  taxing  us  with  every  little  peculiarity 
of  accent  or  diction;  he  's  not  always  criticising  our  ways 
where  they  differ  from  his  own.  Now,  your  people  do,  and, 
do  what  we  may,  sir,  they  will  look  on  us  as  what  the 
Chinese  call  '  second  chop. '  Now,  to  my  thinking,  we  are 
first  chop,  sir,  and  you  are  the  tea  after  second  watering." 

They  were  now  rapidly  approaching  the  only  territory  in 
which  an  unpleasant  feeling  was  possible  between  them. 
Each  knew  and  felt  this,  and  yet,  with  a  sort  of  national 
stubbornness,  neither  liked  to  be  the  one  to  recede  first. 
As  for  Layton,  bound  as  he  was  by  a  debt  of  deep  gratitude 
to  the  American,  he  chafed  under  the  thought  of  sacrificing 
even  a  particle  of  his  country's  honor  to  the  accident  of  his 
own  condition,  and  with  a  burning  cheek  and  flashing  eye  he 
began,  — 

"There  can  be  no  discussion  on  the  matter.  Between 
England  and  America  there  can  no  more  be  a  question  as  to 
supremacy  —  " 

"There,  don't  say  it;  stop  there,"  said  Quackinboss, 
mildly.  "Don't  let  us  get  warm  about  it.  I  may  like  to 
sit  in  a  rockin'-chair  and  smoke  my  weed  in  the  parlor; 
you  may  prefer  to  read  the  '  Times '  at  the  drawing-room 
fire ;  but  if  we  both  agree  to  go  out  into  the  street  together, 
sir,  we  can  whip  all  cre-ation." 

And  he  seized  Layton' s  hand,  and  wrung  it  with  an 
honest  warmth  that  there  was  no  mistaking. 

"And  now  as  to  this  Mr.  Trover,"  said  Layton,  after  a 
few  minutes.  "Are  we  likely  to  learn  anything  from 
him?  " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  lazily,  "I  'm  on  his  track, 
and  I  know  his  footmarks  so  well  now  that  I  '11  be  sure  to 
detect  him  if  I  see  him  again.  He  's  a-goin'  South,  and  so 
are  loe.  He's  a-looking  out  for  land;  that's  exactly  what 
we  're  arter!  " 

"You  have  dropped  no  hint  about  our  lecturing  scheme?" 
asked  Layton,  eagerly. 

"I  rayther  think  not,  sir,"  said  the  other,  half  indignant 
at  the  bare  suspicion.  "We  're  two  gentlemen  on  the  search 
after  a  good  location  and  a  lively  water-power.  We  've  jest 
heard  of  one  down  West,  and  there  's  the  whole  cargo  as  per 


-QUACKINBOSSIANA.  393 

invoice."  And  he  gave  a  knowing  wink  and  look  of  mingled 
drollery  and  cunning. 

"You  are  evidently  of  opinion  that  this  man  could  be  of 
use  to  us  ?  "  said  Lay  ton,  who  was  well  aware  how  fond  the 
American  was  of  acting  with  a  certain  mystery-,  and  who 
therefore  cautiously  abstained  from  any  rash  assault  upon 
his  confidence. 

"Yes,  sir,  that's  my  ticket;  but  I  mean  to  take  my  own 
time  to  lay  the  bill  on  the  table.  But  here  comes  the  small 
steamers  and  the  boats  for  the  mails.  Listen  to  that  bugle, 
Britisher.  That  air  is  worth  all  Mozart.  Yes,  sir,"  said 
he  proudly,  as  he  hummed,  — 

"  There  's  not  a  man  beneath  the  moon, 
Nor  lives  in  any  laud  he 
That  has  n't  heard  the  pleasant  tune 
Of  Yankee  doodle  dandy  ! 

"In  cooliu'  drinks,  and  clipper  ships, 
The  Yankee  has  the  way  shown  ! 
On  laud  aud  sea  't  is  he  tliat  whips 
Old  Bull  aud  all  cre-ation." 

Quack inboss  gradually  dropped  his  voice,  till  at  the 
concluding  line  the  words  sank  into  an  undistinguishable 
murmur;  for  now,  as  it  were,  on  the  threshold  of  his  own 
door,  he  felt  all  the  claim  of  courtesy  to  the  stranger.  Still 
it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  repress  the  proud  delight  he 
felt  in  the  signs  of  wealth  and  prosperity  around  him. 

"There,"  cried  he,  with  enthusiasm,  "there  ain't  a  land 
in  the  universe  —  that 's  worth  calling  a  laud  —  has  n't  a  flag 
flying  yonder!  There's  every  color  of  bunting,  from  Lai> 
land  to  Shanghai,  afloat  in  them  waters,  sir;  and  yet  you  '11 
not  have  to  go  back  two  hundred  years,  and  where  you  see 
the  smoke  risin'  from  ten  thousand  human  dwellin's  there 
was  n't  one  hearth  nor  one  home!  The  black  pine  and  the 
hemlock  grew  down  those  grassy  slopes  where  you  see  them 
gardens,  and  the  red  glare  of  the  Indian's  fire  shone  out 
where  the  lighthouse  now  points  to  safety  and  welcome! 
It  ain't  a  despicable  race  as  has  done  all  that!  If  that  be 
not  the  work  of  a  great  people,  I'd  like  to  hear  what  is!  " 
He  next  pointed  out  to  Layton  the  various  objects  of  inter- 


894  ONE   OF  THEM. 

est  as  they  presented  themselves  to  view,  commenting  on  the 
very  different  impressions  such  a  scene  of  human  energy 
and  activity  is  like  to  produce  than  those  lands  of  Southern 
Europe  from  which  they  had  lately  come.  "You  '11  never 
hear  Come  si  fa?  here,  sir,"  said  he,  proudly.  "If  a  man 
can't  fix  a  thing  aright,  he  '11  not  wring  his  hands  and  sit 
down  to  cry  over  it,  but  he  '11  go  home  to  think  of  it  at  his 
meals,  and  as  he  lies  awake  o'  nights;  and  he  '11  ask  himself 
again  and  again,  '  If  there  be  a  way  o'  doin'  this,  why  can't 
/find  it  out  as  well  as  another?  '  " 

It  was  the  Colonel's  belief  that  out  of  the  principle  of 
equality  sprang  an  immense  amount  of  that  energy  which 
develops  itself  in  inventive  ability;  and  he  dilated  on  this 
theory  for  some  time,  endeavoring  to  show  that  the  subdivi- 
sion of  ranks  in  the  Old  World  tended  largely  to  repress 
the  enterprising  spirit  which  leads  men  into  paths  previ- 
ously untrodden.  "That  you  '11  see,  sir,  when  you  come  to 
mix  with  our  people.  And  now,  a  word  of  advice  to  you 
before  you  begin." 

He  drew  his  arm  within  Layton's  as  he  said  this,  and  led 
him  two  or  three  turns  on  the  deck  in  silence.  The  subject 
was  in  some  sort  a  delicate  one,  and  he  did  not  well  see 
how  to  open  it  without  a  certain  risk  of  offending.  "  Here  's 
how  it  is,"  said  he  at  last.  "Our  folk  is  n't  your  folk  be- 
cause they  speak  the  same  language.  In  your  country,  your 
station  or  condition,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  answers 
for  you,  and  the  individual  man  merges  into  the  class  he 
belongs  to.  Not  so  here.  We  don't  care  a  red  cent  about 
your  rank,  but  we  want  to  know  about  you  yourself !  Now, 
you  strangers  mistake  all  that  feeling,  and  call  it  imperti- 
nence and  curiosity,  and  such-like;  but  it  ain't  anything  of 
the  kind !  No,  sir.  It  simply  means  what  sort  of  knowl- 
edge, what  art  or  science  or  labor,  can  you  contribute  to  the 
common  stock?  Are  you  a-come  amongst  us  to  make  us 
wiser  or  richer  or  thriftier  or  godlier;  or  are  you  just  a 
loafer, — a  mere  loafer?  My  asking  you  on  a  rail-car 
whence  j'ou  come  and  where  you  're  a-goin'  is  no  more  im- 
pertinence than  my  inquirin'  at  a  store  whether  they  have 
got  this  article  or  that !  I  want  to  know  whether  you  and  I, 
as  we  journey  together,  can  profit  each  other ;  whether  either 


■QUACKINBOSSIANA.  395 

of  US  may  n't  have  something  the  other  has  never  heard 
afore.  He  can't  have  travelled  very  far  in  life  who  has  n't 
picked  up  many  an  improvin'  thing  from  men  he  did  n't 
know  the  names  on,  ay,  and  learned  many  a  sound  lesson, 
besides,  of  patience,  or  contentment,  forgiveness,  and  the 
like;  and  all  that  ain't  so  easy  if  people  won't  be  sociable 
together !  " 

Layton  nodded  a  sort  of  assent;  and  Quackiuboss  con- 
tinued, in  the  same  strain,  to  point  out  peculiarities  to  be 
observed,  and  tastes  to  be  consulted,  especially  with  refer- 
ence to  the  national  tendency  to  invite  to  ''liquor,"  which 
he  assured  Layton  by  no  means  required  a  sense  of  thirst  on 
his  part  to  accede  to.  "You  ain't  always  charmed  when 
you  say  you  are,  in  French,  sir;  and  the  same  spirit  of 
politeness  should  lead  you  to  accept  a  brandy-smash  without 
needing  it,  or  even  to  drink  off  a  cocktail  when  you  ain't 
dry.  After  all,"  said  he,  drawing  a  long  breath,  like  one 
summing  up  the  pith  of  a  discourse,  "if  you're  a-goin'  to 
pick  holes  in  Yankee  coats,  to  see  all  manner  of  things  to 
criticise,  condemn,  and  sneer  at,  if  you  're  satisfied  to  de- 
scribe a  people  by  a  few  peculiarities  which  are  not  pleasin' 
to  you,  go  ahead  and  abuse  us;  but  if  you  '11  accept  honest 
hospitality,  though  offered  in  a  way  that 's  new  and  strange 
to  you,  —  if  you  '11  believe  in  true  worth  and  genuine  loyalty 
of  character,  even  though  its  possessor  talk  somewhat 
through  the  nose,  — then,  sir,  I  say,  there  ain't  no  fear  that 
America  will  disappoint  you,  or  that  you  '11  be  ill-treated 
by  Americans."  With  this  speech  he  turned  away  to  look 
after  his  baggage  and  get  ready  to  go  ashore. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

QUACKINBOSS   AT   HOME. 

Though  Quackinboss  understood  thoroughly  well  that  it 
devolved  upon  him  to  do  the  honors  of  his  country  to  the 
"Britisher,"  he  felt  that,  in  honest  fairness,  the  stranger 
ought  to  be  free  to  form  his  impressions,  without  the 
bias  that  would  ensue  from  personal  attentions,  while  he 
also  believed  that  American  institutions  and  habits  stood 
in  need  of  no  peculiar  favor  towards  them  to  assert  their 
own  superiority. 

"Don't  be  on  the  look-out,  sir,  for  Eu-rupean  graces,"  he 
would  say,  "  in  this  country,  for  the  men  that  have  most  of 
'em  ain't  our  best  people;  and  don't  mistake  the  eagerness 
with  which  everybody  will  press  you  to  admire  America  for 
any  slight  towards  the  old  country.  We  all  like  her,  sir; 
and  we  'd  like  her  better  if  she  was  n't  so  fond  of  saj'ing 
she  's  ashamed  of  us." 

These  were  the  sort  of  warnings  and  counsels  he  would 
drop  as  he  guided  Layton  about  through  the  city,  pointing 
out  whatever  he  deemed  most  worthy  of  curiosity',  or  what- 
ever he  conceived  might  illustrate  the  national  character. 
It  was  chiefly  on  the  wealth  of  the  people,  their  untiring 
industry,  and  the  energy  with  which  they  applied  themselves 
to  money-getting,  that  he  laid  stress ;  and  he  did  this  with 
a  degree  of  insistence  that  betrayed  an  uneasy  conscious- 
ness of  how  little  sympathy  such  ti'aits  meet  with  from  the 
passing  traveller. 

"Mayhap,  sir,  you  'd  rather  see  'em  loafing?  "  said  he  one 
day  in  a  moment  of  impatience,  as  Layton  half  confessed 
that  he  'd  like  to  meet  some  of  the  men  of  leisure.  "Well, 
you  '11  have  to  look  'em  up  elsewhere,  I  expect.  I  '11  have  to 
take  you  a  run  down  South  for  that  sort  of  cattle,  —  and 


QUACKINBOSS  AT  HOME.  397 

that 's  what  I  mean  to  do.  Before  you  go  before  our 
people,  sir,  as  a  lecturer,  you  '11  have  to  study  'em  a  little, 
that 's  a  fact!  When  you  come  to  know  'em,  you  '11  see  that 
it 's  a  folk  wou't  be  put  off  with  chaff  when  they  want  buck- 
wheat; and  that 's  jest  what  your  Eu-ropeans  think  to  do.  I 
will  take  a  trip  to  the  Falls  first;  I  'd  like  to  show  you  that 
water-power.     We  start  away  on  Monday  next." 

Layton  was  not  sorry  to  leave  New  York.  The  sight  of 
that  ever  busy  multitude,  that  buzzing  hive  of  restless  bees, 
was  only  addling  to  one  who  never  regarded  wealth  save  as 
a  stage  to  something  farther  off.  He  was  well  aware  how 
rash  it  would  be  to  pronouuce  upon  a  people  from  the  mere 
accidents  of  chance  intercourse,  and  he  longed  to  see  what 
might  give  him  some  real  insight  into  the  character  of  the 
nation.  Besides  this,  he  felt,  with  all  the  poignant  suscep- 
tibility of  his  nature,  that  he  was  not  himself  the  man  to 
win  success  amongst  them.  There  was  a  bold  rough  energy, 
a  daring  go-ahead  spirit,  that  overbore  him  wherever  he 
went.  They  who  had  not  travelled  spoke  more  confidently 
of  foreign  lands  than  he  who  had  seen  them.  Of  the  very 
subjects  he  had  made  his  own  by  study,  he  heard  men  speak 
with  a  confidence  he  would  not  have  dared  to  assume;  and 
lastly,  the  reserve  which  serves  as  a  sanctuary  to  the  bashful 
man  was  invaded  without  scruple  by  any  one  who  pleased 
it. 

If  each  day's  experience  confirmed  him  in  the  impression 
that  he  was  not  one  to  gain  their  suffrages,  he  was  especially 
careful  to  conceal  this  discouraging  conviction  from  Quack- 
Inboss,  leaving  to  time,  that  great  physician,  to  provide  for 
the  future.  Nor  was  the  Colonel  himself,  be  it  owned, 
without  his  own  misgivings.  He  saw,  to  his  amazement, 
that  the  qualities  which  he  had  so  much  admired  in  Layton 
won  no  approval  from  his  countrymen ;  the  gifts,  which  by 
reading  and  reflection  he  had  cultivated,  seemed  not  to  be 
marketa])le  commodities ;  there  were  no  buyers,  —  none 
wanted  them.  Now  Quackinboss  began  to  think  seriously 
over  their  project,  deeply  pained  as  he  remembered  that  it 
was  by  his  own  enthusiastic  description  of  his  countrymen 
the  plan  had  first  met  acceptance.  Whether  it  was  that  the 
American  mind  had  undergone  some  great  change  since  he 


398  ONE   OF  THEM. 

had  known  it,  or  that  foreign  travel  had  exaggerated,  in  his 
estimation,  the  memory  of  many  things  he  had  left  behind 
him;  but  so  it  was,  the  Colonel  was  amazed  to  discover 
that  with  all  the  traits  of  sharp  intelligence  and  activity 
he  recognized  in  his  countrymen,  there  were  yet  some  fea- 
tures in  the  society  of  the  old  continent  that  he  regretted 
and  yearned  after.  Again  and  again  did  he  refer  to  Italy 
and  their  life  there;  even  the  things  he  had  so  often  con- 
demned now  came  up,  softened  by  time  and  distance,  as 
pleasant  memories  of  an  era  passed  in  great  enjoyment. 
If  any  passing  trait  in  the  scenery  recalled  the  classic  land, 
he  never  failed  to  remark  it,  and,  once  launched  upon  the 
theme,  he  would  talk  away  for  hours  of  the  olive-woods,  the 
treliised  vines,  the  cottages  half  hid  amidst  the  orange- 
groves,  showing  how  insensibly  the  luxurious  indolence  he 
had  imbibed  lingered  like  a  sort  of  poison  in  his  blood. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  one  day,  as  with  an  amount  of  irrita- 
tion he  acknowledged  the  fatal  fascination  of  that  land  of 
dreamy  inactivity,  "it's  mij  notion  that  Italy  is  a  pasture 
where  no  beast  ought  to  be  turned  out  that 's  ever  to  do  any 
work  again.  It  ain't  merely  that  one  does  nothing  when 
he's  there,  but  he  ain't  fit  for  anything  when  he  leaves  it. 
I  know  what  I  'd  have  thought  of  any  man  that  would  have 
said  to  me,  '  Shaver  Quackinboss,  you  'II  come  out  of  them 
diggin's  lazy  and  indolent.  You  '11  think  more  of  your  ease 
than  you  ought,  and  you  '11  be  more  grateful  for  being  jest 
left  alone  to  follow  your  own  fancies  than  for  the  best  notion 
of  speculation  that  ever  was  hit  upon.'  And  that 's  exactly 
what  I  've  come  to!  I  don't  want  a  fellow  to  tell  me  where 
I  can  make  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars;  I  've  lost  all  that 
spring  in  me  that  used  to  make  me  rise  early  and  toil  late. 
What  I  call  happiness  now  is  to  sit  and  smoke  with  one  of 
your  sort  of  an  aftej-noon,  and  listen  to  stories  of  chaps  that 
lived  long  ago,  and  worked  their  way  on  in  a  world  a  pre- 
cious sight  harder  to  bully  than  our  own.  Well  now,  sir, 
I  say,  that  ain't  right,  and  it  ain't  nat'ral,  and,  what 's 
more,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  bear  it.  I  mean  to  be  stirrin'  and 
active  again,  and  you'll  see  it." 

It  was  a  few  days  after  he  had  made  this  resolve  that  he 
said  to  Layton,  — 


QU-ACKINBOSS  AT  HOME.  399 

"Only  think  who  I  saw  at  the  bar  this  morning.  That 
fellow  we  came  over  with  in  the  passage  out;  he  was 
a-liquoring  down  there  and  treating  all  the  company.  He 
comes  up  to  me,  straight  on  end,  and  says,  — 

"  '  AVell,  old  'oss,  and  how  do  you  get  on?  ' 

"  'Bobbish-like,'  says  I,  for  I  was  minded  to  be  good- 
humored  with  him,  and  see  what  I  could  get  out  of  him 
about   hisself. 

'"  Where  's  the  young  'uu  I  saw  with  you  aboard?  '  says 
he. 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  he  ain't  very  far  off,  when  he  's  wanted.' 

"'That's  what  he  ain't,'  said  he;  'he  ain't  wanted 
nowhere.'  When  he  said  this  I  saw  he  was  very  '  tight,'  as 
we  call  it,  — far  gone  in  liquor,  I  mean. 

"  'Have  you  found  out  that  same  water-power  you  were 
arter  ?  '  said  he. 

"'No,'  said  I.  'It's  down  West  a  man  must  go  who 
has  n't  a  bag  full  of  dollars.  Everything  up  hereabouts  is 
bought  up  at  ten  times  its  worth.' 

"  '  Well,  look  sharp  after  the  young  'un,'  said  he,  laugh- 
ing; 'that's  my  advice  to  you.  Though  you're  Yankee, 
he  '11  be  too  much  for  you  in  the  end.'  He  said  this,  drink- 
ing away  all  the  time,  and  getting  thicker  in  his  speech  at 
every  word. 

"'  I  ain't  a  man  to  neglect  a  warnin','  says  I,  in  a  sort  of 
whisper,  '  and  if  yov  mean  friendly  by  me,  speak  out.' 

'"  And  ain't  that  speaking  out,'  saj's  he,  boldly,  '  when  I 
say  to  a  fellow  I  scarcely  know  bj'  sight,  "Mind  your  eye; 
look  out  for  squalls !  "  I  wonder  what  more  he  wants  ?  Does 
he  expect  me  to  lend  him  money?  '  said  he,  with  an  insolent 
laugh. 

"  '  No,'  said  I,  in  the  same  easy  way,  '  b}'  no  manner  o' 
means;  and  if  it's  myself  you  allude  to,  I  ain't  in  the  voca- 
tive case,  sir.  I  've  got  in  that  old  leather  pocket-book  quite 
enough  for  present  use.' 

"  '  Watch  it  well,  then;  put  it  under  your  Jiead  o'  nights, 
that's  all,'  said  he,  hiccuping;  'and  if  you  wake  up  some 
morning  without  it,  don't  say  the  fault  was  Oliver  Trover's.' 
This  was  a-tellin'  me  his  name,  which  I  remembered  the 
moment  I  heard  it. 


400  ONE   OF   THEM. 

" '  You  '11  take  a  brandj'-smash  or  a  glass  of  bitters  with 
me  now,  sir?'  said  I,  hopiu'  to  get  sometliiug  more  out  of 
him;  but  he  wouldn't  have  it.  He  said,  with  a  half- 
cuuuing  leer,  '  No  more  liquor,  no  more  liquor,  and  no  more 
secrets !  If  you  was  to  treat  me  to  all  in  the  bar,  you  'd  get 
nothing  more  out  of  Noll  Trover.'  " 

"But  what  does  the  fellow  mean  by  his  insinuations  about 
me?  "  said  Lay  ton,  angrily.  "I  never  knew  him,  never  met 
him,  never  so  much  as  heard  of  him!  " 

"What  does  that  signify  if  he  has  heard  of  you^  and  sus- 
pects you  to  know  something  about  him  ?  He  ain't  all 
right,  that 's  clear  enough;  but  our  country  is  so  full  of 
fellows  like  that,  it  ain't  easy  work  tracking  'em." 

Layton  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  an  indifference,  as 
though  to  say  the  matter  did  not  interest  him ;  but  Quackin- 
boss  rejoined  quickly,  "  I  've  a  notion  that  it  concerns  us, 
sir.  I  heerd  his  inquiry  about  all  the  lines  down  South, 
and  asking  if  any  one  knew  a  certain  Harvey  Wiuthrop, 
down  at  Norfolk." 

"Winthrop — Winthrop?  Where  have  I  heard  that 
name?  " 

"In  that  book  of  your  father's,  — don't  you  remember  it? 
It  was  he  was  mentioned  as  the  guardian  of  that  young  girl, 
the  daughter  of  him  as  was  pisoned  at  Jersey." 

"And  is  this  man  Trover  in  search  of  Winthrop?"  asked 
Layton,  eagerly. 

"  Well,  he  's  a-lookin'  arter  him,  somehow,  that's  certain; 
for  when  somebody  said,  '  Oh,  Harvey  Winthrop  ain't  at 
Norfolk  now,'  he  looked  quite  put  out  and  amazed,  and 
muttered  something  about  having  made  all  his  journey  for 
nothing." 

"  It  is  strange,  indeed,  that  we  should  have  the  same 
destination,  and  stranger  still  would  it  be  if  we  should  be 
both  on  the  same  errand." 

"Well,"  said  Quackinboss,  after  a  long  pause,  "I've 
been  a-rolling  the  log  over  and  over,  to  see  which  way  to 
cut  it,  and  at  last,  I  believe,  I  've  found  the  right  side  o'  it. 
You  and  I  must  quarrel." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Layton,  in  astonishment. 

*'  I  mean  jest  this.     I  must  take  up  the  suspicion  that  he 


QUACKIXBOSS   AT   HOME.  401 

has  about  you,  and  separate  from  you.  It  may  be  to  join 
him.  He's  one  of  your  Old-World  sort,  that's  always  so 
proud  to  be  reckoned  'cute  and  smart,  that  you  've  only  to 
praise  his  legs  to  get  his  leggin's.  We  '11  be  as  thick  as 
thieves  arter  a  week's  travelling,  and  I  '11  find  out  all  that 
he  's  about.  Trust  Old  Shaver,  sir,  to  get  to  windward  of 
small  craft  like  that !  " 

"  I  own  to  you  frankly,"  said  Lay  ton,  "  that  I  don't  fancy 
using  a  rogue's  weapons  even  against  a  rogue." 

"Them's  not  the  sentiments  of  the  men  that  made  laws, 
sir,"  said  Quackiuboss.  "Laws  is  jest  rogues'  weapons 
against  rogues.  You  want  to  do  something  you  have  n't  no 
right  to,  and  straight  away  you  discover  that  some  fellow 
was  so  wide  awake  once  that  he  made  a  statute  against  it, 
ay,  and  so  cleverly  too,  that  he  first  imagined  every  different 
way  you  could  turn  your  dodge,  and  provided  for  each  in 
turn." 

Layton  shook  his  head  in  dissent,  but  could  not  repress  a 
faint  smile. 

"Ain't  it  roguery  to  snare  partridges  and  to  catch  fish, 
for  the  matter  o'  that?"  said  he,  with  increased  warmth. 
*'  Wherever  a  fellow  shows  hisself  more  'cute  than  his  neigh- 
bors, there  's  sure  to  be  an  outcry  '  What  a  rogue  he  is  ! '  " 

"Your  theory  would  be  an  indictment  against  all  man- 
kind," said  Layton. 

"  No,  sir,  for  /only  call  him  a  rogue  that  turns  his  sharp- 
ness to  bad  and  selfish  ends.  Now,  that 's  not  the  case  with 
him  as  hunts  down  varmint :  he 's  a-doin'  a  good  work,  and 
all  the  better  that  he  may  get  scratched  for  his  pains." 

"  Well,  what  is  your  plan?  "  said  Laj^ton,  rather  fearful  of 
the  length  into  which  his  friend's  speculations  occasionally 
betrayed  him. 

"Here  it  is,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel.  "I'll  come  down 
upon  that  crittur  at  Detroit,  where  I  hear  he's  a-goin',  and 
flatter  him  by  saying  that  he  was  all  right  about  you." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Layton,  laughing. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  other,  gravely.     "I'll  say  to  him, 

'Stranger,  you  are  a  wide-awake  'un,  that's  a  fact.'     He'll 

rise  to  that,  like  a  ground-shark  to  a  leg  of  pork,  —  see  if  he 

don't,  — and  he  '11  go  on  to  ask  about  you ;  that  will  give  me 

26 


402  ONE  OF  THEM. 

the  opportunity  to  give  a  sketch  of  myself,  and  a  more 
simple,  guileless  sort  of  bein'  you  've  not  often  heerd  of  than 
I  '11  turn  out  to  be.  Yes,  sir,  I  'm  one  as  suspects  no  ill  of 
anybody,  jest  out  of  the  pureness  of  my  own  heart.  When 
we  get  on  to  a  little  more  intimacy,  I  mean  to  show  him 
twenty  thousand  dollars  I  've  got  by  me,  and  ask  his  advice 
about  iuvestin'  'em.  I  guess  pretty  nigh  what  he  '11  say : 
'  Give  'em  over  to  r/ie.'  Well,  I  '11  take  a  bit  of  time  to  con- 
sider about  that.  There  will  be,  in  consequence,  more  in- 
timacy and  more  friendship  atween  us :  but  arter  he  's  seen 
the  money,  he  '11  not  leave  me ;  human  natur'  could  n't  do 
that!" 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  fairly,"  said  Lay  ton,  "  that  I  not  only 
don't  like  your  scheme,  but  that  I  think  it  will  not  repay 
you?" 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  drawing  himself  up,  "  when- 
ever you  see  me  baitin'  a  rat-trap,  I  don't  expect  you  '11  say, 
'Colonel,  ain't  that  mean?  Ain't  you  ashamed  of  yourself 
to  entice  that  poor  varmint  there  to  his  ruin  ?  Why  don't 
you  explain  to  him  that  if  he  wants  that  morsel  of  fried 
bacon,  it  will  cost  him  pretty  dear?  '  " 

"You  forget  that  you're  begging  the  question.  You're 
assuming,  all  this  time,  that  this  man  is  a  rogue  and  a  cheat." 

"  I  am,  sir,"  said  he,  firmly,  "  for  it's  not  at  this  time  o' 
day  Shaver  Quackinboss  has  to  learn  life.  All  the  pepperin' 
and  lemon-squeezin'  in  the  world  won't  make  a  toad  taste 
like  a  terrapin  :  that  crittur's  gold  chains  don't  impose  upon 
me  !  You  remember  that  he  was  n't  aboard  four-and-twenty 
hours  when  I  said,  '  That  sheep  's  mangy.'  " 

"  Perhaps  I  like  your  plan  the  less  because  it  separates 
us,"  said  Layton,  who  now  perceived  that  the  Colonel  seemed 
to  smart  under  anything  that  reflected  on  his  acuteness. 

' '  That 's  jest  what  galls  me  too,"  said  he,  frankly.  "  It 's 
been  all  sunshine  in  my  life,  since  we  've  been  together.  All 
the  book-learnin'  j^ou  've  got  has  stolen  into  your  nature  so 
gradually  as  to  make  part  of  yourself,  but  what  you  tell  me 
comes  like  soft  rain  over  a  dry  prairie,  and  changing  the 
parched  soil  into  something  that  seems  to  say,  '  I  'm  not  so 
barren,  after  all,  if  I  only  got  my  turn  from  fortune.'  You  've 
shown  me  one  thing,  that  I  often  had  a  glimmerin'  of,  but 


QUACKINBOSS  AT  HOME.  403 

never  saw  clearly  till  you  pointed  it  out,  that  the  wisest  men 
that  ever  lived  felt  more  distrust  of  themselves  than  of  theii- 
fellows.  But  we  only  part  for  a  while,  Layton.  In  less 
than  a  month  we'll  meet  again,  and  I  hope  to  have  good 
news  for  you  by  that  time." 

"Where  are  we  to  rendezvous,  then?"  asked  Layton,  for 
he  saw  how  fruitless  would  be  the  attempt  at  further  oppo- 
sition. 

"  I  '11  have  the  map  out  this  evening,  and  we  '11  fix  it,"  said 
the  Colonel.  "  And  now  leave  me  to  smoke,  and  think  over 
what 's  afore  us.  There 's  gi-eat  thoughts  in  that  bit  of 
twisted  'bacco  there,  if  I  only  have  the  wit  to  trace  'em. 
Every  man  that  has  had  to  use  his  head  in  life  finds  out  by 
the  time  he  's  forty  what  helps  him  to  his  best  notions.  Bo- 
naparte used  to  get  into  a  bath  to  think,  Arkwright  went  to 
bed,  and  my  father,  Methuselah  Grip  Quackiuboss,  said  he 
never  was  so  bright  as  standing  up  to  his  neck  in  the  mill- 
race,  with  the  light  spray  of  the  wheel  comiu'  in  showers 
over  him.  '  I  feel,'  says  he,  '  as  if  I  was  one-half  Lord 
Bacon  and  the  other  John  C.  Colhoun.'  Now  my  brain- 
polisher  is  a  long  Cuban,  a  shady  tree,  and  a  look-out  sea- 
ward, —  all  the  better  if  the  only  sails  in  sight  be  far  away." 


CHAPTER  XLTI. 

A   NEW   LOCATION. 

After  a  great  deal  of  discussion  it  was  agreed  between 
Layton  and  the  Colonel  that  they  should  meet  that  day 
month  at  St.  Louis.  Layton  was  to  employ  the  interval 
in  seeing  as  much  as  he  could  of  the  country  and  the  people, 
and  preparing  himself  to  appear  before  them  at  the  first 
favorable  opportunity.  Indeed,  though  he  did  not  confess 
it,  he  yielded  to  the  separation  the  more  willingly,  because 
it  offered  him  the  occasion  of  putting  into  execution  a  plan 
he  for  some  time  had  been  ruminating  over.  In  some 
measure  from  a  natural  diffidence,  and  in  a  great  degree 
from  a  morbid  dread  of  disappointing  the  high  expectations 
Quackinboss  had  formed  of  the  success  he  was  to  obtain, 
Layton  had  long  felt  that  the  presence  of  his  friend  would 
be  almost  certain  to  insure  his  failure.  He  could  neither 
venture  to  essay  the  same  flights  before  him,  nor  could  he, 
if  need  were,  support  any  coldness  or  disinclination  of  his 
audience  were  Quackinboss  there  to  witness  it.  In  fact, 
he  wanted  to  disassociate  his  friend  from  any  pain  failure 
should  occasion,  and  bear  all  alone  the  sorrows  of  defeat. 

Besides  this,  he  felt  that,  however  personally  painful  the 
ordeal,  he  was  bound  to  face  it.  He  had  accepted  Quackin- 
boss's  assistance  under  the  distinct  pledge  that  he  was  to 
try  this  career.  In  its  success  was  he  to  find  the  means  of 
repaying  his  friend ;  and  so  confidently  had  the  Colonel 
always  talked  of  that  success,  it  would  seem  mere  wilfulness 
not  to  attempt  it. 

There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  more  painful  position  in  life  than 
to  be  obliged  to  essay  a  career  to  which  all  one's  thoughts 
and  instincts  are  opposed  ;  to  do  something  against  which 
self-respect  revolts,  and  yet  meet  no  sympathy  from  others,  — 


A  NEW  LOCATION.  405 

to  be  conscious  that  any  backwardness  will  be  construed 
into  self-indulgence,  and  disinclination  be  set  down  as  in- 
dolence. Now  this  was  Alfred  Layton's  case.  He  must 
either  risk  a  signal  failure,  or  consent  to  be  thought  of  as 
one  who  would  rather  be  a  burden  to  his  friends  than  make 
an  honorable  effort  for  his  own  support.  He  was  already 
heavily  in  the  Colonel's  debt ;  the  thought  of  this  weighed 
upon  him  almost  insupportably.  It  never  quitted  him  for 
an  instant ;  and,  worse  than  all,  it  obtruded  through  every 
effort  he  made  to  acquit  himself  of  the  obligation ;  and  only 
they  who  have  experienced  it  can  know  what  pain  brain 
labor  becomes  when  it  is  followed  amidst  the  cares  and 
anxieties  of  precarious  existence  ;  when  the  student  tries  in 
vain  to  conceutrate  thoughts  that  icill  stray  away  to  the 
miserable  exigencies  of  his  lot,  or  struggle  hopelessly  to 
forget  himself  and  his  condition  in  the  interest  of  bygone 
events  or  unreal  incidents.  Let  none  begrudge  him  the  few 
flitting  moments  of  triumph  he  may  win,  for  he  has  earned 
them  by  many  a  long  hour  of  hardship ! 

The  sense  of  his  utter  loneliness,  often  depressing  and 
dispiriting,  was  now  a  sort  of  comfort  to  him.  Looking 
to  nothing  but  defeat,  he  was  glad  that  there  was  none 
to  share  in  his  sorrows.  Of  all  the  world,  he  thought  poor 
Clara  alone  would  pity  him.  Her  lot  was  like  his  own,  — 
the  same  friendlessness,  the  self-same  difficulty.  Why  should 
he  not  have  her  sympathy?  She  would  give  it  freel}^  and 
with  her  whole  heart.  It  was  but  to  tell  her,  "I  am  far 
away  and  unhappy.  I  chafe  under  dependence,  and  I 
know  not  how  to  assert  my  freedom.  I  would  do  some- 
thing, and  yet  I  know  not  what  it  is  to  be.  I  distrust  my- 
self, and  yet  there  are  times  when  I  feel  that  one  spoken  word 
would  give  such  courage  to  my  heart  that  I  could  go  on 
and  hope."  Could  she  speak  that  word  to  him?  was  his 
ever  present  thought.  He  resolved  to  try,  and  accordingly 
wrote  her  a  long,  long  letter.  Full  of  the  selfishness  of 
one  who  loved,  he  told  her  the  whole  story  of  his  journey, 
and  the  plan  that  led  to  it.  "I  have  patience  enough  for 
slow  toil,"  said  he,  "but  I  do  not  seek  for  the  success  it 
brings.  I  wanted  the  quick  prosperity  that  one  great  effort 
might  secure,  and  time  afterwards  to  enjoy  the  humble  for- 


406  ONE  OF  THEM. 

tune  thus  acquired.  With  merely  enough  for  life,  Clara,  I 
meant  to  ask  you  to  share  it.  Who  are  as  frieudlessly  alone 
as  we  are?  Who  are  so  bereft  of  what  is  called  home?  Say, 
have  you  a  heart  to  give  me,  —  when  I  can  claim  it,  —  and 
will  you  give  it?  I  am  low  and  wretched  because  I  feel  un- 
loved. Tell  me  this  is  not  so,  and  in  the  goal  before  me 
hope  and  energy  will  come  back  to  me."  Broken  and  scarce 
coherent  at  times,  his  letter  revealed  one  who  loved  her  ar- 
dently, and  who  wanted  but  her  pledge  to  feel  himself  happy. 
He  pressed  eagerly  to  know  of  her  own  life,  —  what  it  was, 
and  whether  she  was  contented.  Had  she  learned  anything 
of  the  mystery  that  surrounded  her  family,  or  could  she  give 
him  the  slightest  clew  by  which  he  could  aid  her  in  the 
search?  He  entreated  of  her  to  write  to  him,  even  though 
her  letter  should  not  be  the  confirmation  of  all  he  wished  and 
prayed  for. 

The  very  fact  of  his  having  written  this  to  Clara  seemed  to 
rally  his  spirits.  It  was  at  least  a  pledge  to  his  own  heart. 
He  had  placed  a  goal  before  him,  and  a  hope. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  look  cheerier,"  said  Quackinboss, 
as  they  sat  talking  over  their  plans.  "  The  hardest  load  a 
man  ever  carried  is  a  heavy  heart,  and  it 's  as  true  as  ray 
name 's  Shaver,  that  one  gets  into  the  habit  of  repinin'  and 
seein'  all  things  black  jest  as  one  falls  into  any  other  evil 
habit.  Old  Grip  Quackinboss  said,  one  day,  to  Mr.  Jeffer- 
son, '  Yes,  sir,'  saj's  he,  '  alwa3's  hearty,  sir,  —  alwaj^s  cheery. 
There 's  an  old  lady  as  sweeps  the  crossin'  in  our  street,  and 
I  give  her  a  quarter-dollar  to  fret  for  me,  for  it 's  a  thing 
I've  sworn  never  to  do  for  myself.'" 

"  Well,"  said  Layton,  gayly,  ''  you  '11  see  I  've  turned  over 
a  new  leaf  ;  and  whatever  other  thoughts  3'ou  shall  find  in  me, 
causeless  depression  shall  not  be  of  the  number." 

"All  right,  sir;  that's  my  own  platform.  Now  here's 
your  instructions,  for  I  'm  a-goin'.  I  start  at  seven-forty, 
by  the  cars  for  Buffalo.  That  spot  down  there  is  our  meetiu'- 
place,  —  St.  Louis.  It  looks  mighty  insignificant  on  the  map, 
there;  but  you'll  see  it's  a  thrivin'  location,  and  plenty  of 
business  in  it.  You  '11  take  your  own  time  about  being  there, 
only  be  sure  to  arrive  by  this  day  mouth  ;  and  if  I  be  the  man 
I  think  myself,  I  '11  have  news  to  tell  you  when  you  come. 


-A  NEW  LOCATION.  407 

This  crittur,  Trover,  knows  all  about  that  widow  Morris,  and 
the  girl,  too,  —  that  Clara,  —  you  was  so  fond  of.  If  I  have 
to  tie  him  up  to  a  tree,  sir,  I  '11  have  it  out  of  him  !  There  's 
five  hundred  dollars  in  that  bag.  You  '11  not  need  all  of  it, 
belike,  if  you  keep  clear  of  '  Poker '  and  Bully-brag ;  and  I 
advise  you  to,  sir,  —  I  do,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  It  takes  a 
man  to  know  life,  to  guess  some  of  the  sharp  'uus  in  our 
river  steamers.  There  's  no  other  dangers  to  warn  you  of 
here,  sir.  Don't  be  riled  about  trifles,  and  you  '11  find  your- 
self very  soon  at  home  with  us." 

These  were  his  last  words  of  counsel  as  he  shook  Layton's 
hand  at  parting.  It  was  w'ith  a  sad  sense  of  loneliness  Lay- 
ton  sat  by  his  window  after  Quackiuboss  had  gone.  For 
many  a  month  back  he  had  had  no  other  friend  or  com- 
panion :  ever  present  to  counsel,  console,  or  direct  him, 
the  honest  Yankee  was  still  more  ready  with  his  purse 
than  his  precepts.  Often  as  they  had  differed  in  their 
opinions,  not  a  hasty  word  or  disparaging  sentiment  had 
ever  disturbed  their  intercourse ;  and  even  the  Colonel's 
most  susceptible  spot  —  that  whicli  touched  upon  national 
characteristics  —  never  was  even  casually  wounded  in  the 
converse.  In  fact,  each  had  learned  to  see  with  how  very 
little  forbearance  in  matters  of  no  moment  and  with  how 
slight  an  exercise  of  deference  for  differences  of  object 
and  situation,  English  and  American  could  live  together 
like  brothers. 

There  was  but  one  thought  which  embittered  the  relations 
between  them,  in  Layton's  estimation.  It  was  the  sense  of 
that  dependence  which  destroyed  equality.  He  was  satisfied 
to  be  deeply  the  debtor  of  his  friend,  but  he  could  not  strug- 
gle between  what  he  felt  to  be  a  fitting  gratitude,  and  that 
resolute  determination  to  assert  what  he  believed  to  be  true 
at  any  cost.  He  suspected,  too,  —  and  the  suspicion  was  a 
very  painful  one,  —  that  the  Colonel  deemed  him  indolent  and 
self-indulgent.  The  continued  reluctance  he  had  evinced  to 
adventure  on  the  scheme  for  which  the}'  came  so  far,  favored 
this  impression. 

As  day  after  day  he  travelled  along,  one  thought  alone 
occupied  him.  At  each  place  he  stopped  came  the  questions, 
"Will  this  suit?     Is  this  the  spot  I  am  in  search  of?     It  was 


408  ONE   OF  THEM. 

strange  to  mark  by  what  slight  and  casual  events  his  mind 
was  influenced.  The  slightest  accident  that  ruffled  him  as  he 
arrived,  an  insignificant  inconvenience,  a  passing  word,  the 
look  of  the  place,  the  people,  the  very  aspect  of  the  weather, 
were  each  enough  to  assure  him  he  had  not  yet  discovered 
what  he  sought  after.  It  was  towards  the  close  of  his  fifth 
day's  ramble  that  he  reached  the  small  town  of  Bunkumville. 
It  was  a  newly  settled  place,  and,  like  all  such,  not  over- 
remarkable  for  comfort  or  convenience.  The  spot  had  been 
originally  laid  out  as  the  centre  of  certain  lines  of  railroad, 
and  intended  to  have  been  a  place  of  consequence ;  but  the 
engineers  who  had  planned  it  had  somehow  incurred  disgrace, 
the  project  was  abandoned,  and  instead  of  a  commercial 
town,  I'ich,  populous,  and  flourishing,  it  now  presented  the 
aspect  of  a  spot  hastily  deserted,  and  left  to  linger  out  an 
existence  of  decline  and  neglect.  There  wei'e  marks  enough 
to  denote  the  grand  projects  which  were  once  entertained  for 
the  place,  —  great  areas  measured  off  for  squares,  spacious 
streets  staked  off;  here  and  there  massive  "blocks"  of 
building ;  three  or  four  hotels  on  a  scale  of  vast  proportion, 
and  an  assembly-room  worthy  of  a  second-rate  city.  With 
all  this,  the  population  was  poor-looking  and  careworn.  No 
stir  of  trade  or  business  to  be  met  with.  A  stray  bullock-car 
stole  drearily  along  through  the  deep-rutted  streets,  or  a 
traveller  significantly  armed  with  rifle  and  revolver  rode  by 
on  his  own  raw-boned  horse  ;  but  of  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
town  life  and  habits  there  were  none.  Of  the  hotels,  two 
were  closed ;  the  third  was  partially  occupied  as  a  barrack, 
by  a  party  of  cavalry  despatched  to  repress  some  Indian  out- 
rages on  the  frontier.  Even  the  soldiers  had  contracted 
some  of  the  wild,  out-of-the-world  look  of  the  place,  and 
wore  their  belts  over  buckskin  jackets,  that  smacked  more  of 
the  prairie  than  the  parade.  The  public  conveyance  which 
brought  Layton  to  the  spot  only  stopped  long  enough  to  bait 
the  liorses  and  refresh  the  travellers ;  and  it  was  to  the  no 
small  surprise  of  the  driver  that  he  saw  the  "  Britisher"  ask 
for  his  portmanteau,  with  the  intention  of  halting  there. 
"Well,  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  injure  your  constitution  with 
gayety  and  late  hours,  stranger,"  said  he,  as  he  saw  him 
descend;   "that's  a  fact." 


A  NEW  LOCATION.  409 

Nor  was  the  sentiment  one  that  Layton  could  dispute,  as, 
still  standing  beside  his  luggage  in  the  open  street,  he 
watched  the  stage  till  it  disappeared  in  the  distant  pine 
forest.  Two  or  three  lounging,  lazy-looking  inhabitants  had, 
meanwhile,  come  up,  and  stood  looking  with  curiosity  at  the 
new  arrival. 

"You  ain't  a  valuator,  are  you?"  asked  one,  after  a  long 
and  careful  inspection  of  him. 

"  No,"  said  Layton,  dryly, 

"  You  're  a-lookin'  for  a  saw-mill,  I  expect,"  said  another, 
with  a  keen  glance  as  he  spoke. 

"  Nor  that,  either,"  was  the  answer. 

"  1  have  it,"  broke  in  a  third  ;  "  you  've  got  '  notions  '  in 
that  box,  there,  but  it  won't  do  down  here ;  we  've  got  too 
much  bark  to  hew  off  before  we  come  to  such  flxin's." 

"  I  suspect  you  are  not  nearer  the  mark  than  your  friends, 
sir,"  said  La^'tou,  still  repressing  the  slightest  show  of 
impatience. 

"  What '11  you  lay,  stranger,  I  don't  hit  it?  "  cried  a  tall, 
thin,  bold-looking  fellow,  with  long  hair  falling  over  his 
neck.  "You're  a  preacher,  ain't  you?  You're  from  the 
New  England  States,  I  '11  be  bound.  Say  I  'm  right,  sir,  for 
you  know  I  am." 

"  I  must  give  it  against  you,  sir,  also,"  said  Layton,  pre- 
serving his  gravity  with  an  effort  that  was  not  without  diffi- 
cult}'. "I  do  not  follow  any  one  of  the  avocations  you 
mention ;  but,  in  return  for  your  five  questions,  may  I  make 
bold  to  ask  one?     Which  is  the  hotel  here?" 

"  It 's  yonder."  said  the  tall  man,  pointing  to  a  large  house, 
handsomely  pillared,  and  overgrown  with  the  luxuriant 
foliage  of  the  red  acanthus ;  "  there  it  is.  That 's  the 
Temple  of  Epicurus,  as  you  see  it  a-written  up.  You  ain't 
for  speculatin'  in  that  sort,  are  you  ? " 

"No,"  said  Layton,  quietly;  "I  was  merely  asking  for  a 
house  of  entertainment." 

"You're  a  Britisher,  I  reckon,"  said  one  of  the  former 
speakers;  "that's  one  of  tJiKir  words  for  meat  and  drink." 

Without  waiting  for  any  further  discussion  of  himself, 
his  country,  or  his  projects,  Layton  walked  towards  the 
hotel.     From  the  two  upper  tiers  of  windows  certain  portions 


410  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  military  attire,  hung  out  to  air  or  to  dry,  undeniably 
announced  a  soldierly  occupation;  cross-belts,  overalls,  and 
great-coats  hung  gracefully  suspended  on  all  sides.  Lower 
down,  there  was  little  evidence  of  habitation ;  most  of  the 
windows  were  closely  shuttered,  and  through  such  as  were 
open  La3'ton  saw  large  and  lofty  rooms,  totally  destitute  of 
furniture  and  in  part  unfinished.  The  hall-door  opened 
upon  a  spacious  apartment,  at  one  side  of  which  a  bar  had 
been  projected,  but  the  plan  had  gone  no  further  than  a  long 
counter  and  some  shelves,  on  which  now  a  few  bottles  stood 
in  company  with  three  or  four  brass  candlesticks,  a  plaster 
bust,  wanting  a  nose,  and  some  cooking-utensils.  On  the 
counter  itself  was  stretched  at  full  length,  and  fast  asleep,  a 
short,  somewhat  robust  man,  in  shirt  and  trousers,  his  deep 
snoring  awaking  a  sort  of  moaning  echo  in  the  vaulted 
room.  Not  exactly  choosing  to  disturb  his  slumbers,  if 
avoidable.  Lay  ton  pushed  his  explorations  a  little  further; 
but  though  he  found  a  number  of  rooms,  all  open,  they  were 
alike  empty  and  unfinished,  nor  was  there  a  creature  to  be 
met  with  tliroughout.  There  was,  then,  nothing  for  it  but 
to  awaken  the  sleeper,  which  he  proceeded  to,  at  first  by 
gentle,  but,  as  these  failed,  by  more  vigorous  means. 

"Don't!  1  say,"  growled  out  the  man,  without  opening  his 
eyes,  but  seeming  bent  on  continuing  his  sleep;  "I '11  not 
liave  it;  let  me  be,  — that 's  all." 

"Are  you  the  landlord  of  this  hotel?"  said  Lay  ton,  with 
a  stout  shake  by  the  shoulder. 

"Well,  then,  here's  for  it,  if  you  will!"  cried  the  other, 
springing  up,  and  throwing  himself  in  an  instant  into  a 
boxing  attitude,  while  his  eyes  glared  with  a  vivid  wildness, 
and  his  whole  face  denoted  passion. 

"I  came  here  for  food  and  lodging,  and  not  for  a  boxing- 
match,  my  friend,"  said  Lay  ton,  mildly. 

"And  who  said  I  was  your  friend?"  said  the  other, 
fiercely:  "who  told  you  that  we  was  raised  in  the  same  dig- 
gin's?  and  what  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  disturbin'  a  gentle- 
man in  his  bed  ?  " 

"You'll  scarcely  call  that  bench  a  bed,  I  think?"  said 
Layton,  in  an  accent  meant  to  deprecate  all  warmth. 

"And  why  not,  sir?     If  you  choose  to  dress  yourself  like 


-A  NEW  LOCATION. 


411 


a  checker-board,  I  'm  not  going  to  dispute  whether  you 
have  a  coat  on.  It 's  my  bed,  and  I  like  it.  And  now  what 
next?" 

"I'm  very  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you;  and  if  you  can 
only  tell  me  if  there  be  any  other  hotel  in  this  place  —  " 

"There  ain't;  and  there  never  will  be,  that 's  more.  Els- 
more's  is  shut  up;  Chute  Melchiu  's  a-blown  his  brains  out; 


and  so  would  i/ou  if  you  'd  have  come  here.  Don't  laugh, 
or  by  the  everlastin'  rattlesnake,  I  '11  bowie  you!  " 

The  madl}'^  excited  look  of  the  man,  his  staring  eyes,  re- 
treating forehead,  and  restless  features  made  Layton  sus- 
pect he  was  insane,  and  he  would  gladly  have  retired  from 
an  interview  that  promised  so  little  success ;  but  the  other 
walked  deliberately  round,  and,  barring  the  passage  to  the 
door,  stood  with  his  arms  crossed  before  him. 

"You  think  I  don't  know  you,  but  I  do;  I  heerd  of  you 
eight  weeks  ago;  I  knew  you  was  comin',  but  darm  me  all 
blue  if  you  shall  have  it.     Come  out  into  the  orchard :  come 


412  ONE   OF  THEM. 

out,  I  say,  and  let's  see  who's  the  best  man.  You  think 
you  '11  come  here  and  make  this  like  the  Astor  House,  don't 
ye?  and  there  '11  be  five  or  six  hundred  every  night  pressing 
up  to  the  bar  for  bitters  and  juleps,  just  because  you  have 
the  place?  But  I  say  Dan  Heron  ain't  a-goin'  to  quit;  he 
stands  here  like  old  Hickory  in  the  mud-fort,  and  says,  try 
and  turn  me  out." 

By  the  time  the  altercation  had  reached  thus  far,  Layton 
saw  that  a  crowd  of  some  five-and-tweuty  or  thirty  persons 
had  assembled  outside  the  door,  and  were  evidently  enjoy- 
ing the  scene  with  no  common  zest.  Indeed,  their  mutter- 
iugs  of  "Dan  's  a-givin'  it  to  him,"  "Dan  's  full  steam  up," 
and  so  on,  showed  where  their  sympathies  inclined.  Some, 
however,  more  kindly-minded,  and  moved  by  the  unfriended 
position  of  the  stranger,  good-naturedly  interposed,  and, 
having  obtained  Layton's  sincere  and  willing  assurance  that 
he  never  harbored  a  thought  of  becoming  proprietor  of  the 
Temple,  nor  had  he  the  very  vaguest  notion  of  settling  down 
at  Bunkumville  in  any  capacity,  peace  was  signed,  and  Mr. 
Heron  consented  to  receive  him  as  a  guest. 

Taking  a  key  from  a  nail  on  the  wall,  Dan  Heron  pre- 
ceded him  to  a  small  chamber,  where  a  truckle-bed,  a  chair, 
and  a  basin  on  the  floor  formed  the  furniture ;  but  he  prom- 
ised a  table,  and  if  the  stay  of  the  stranger  warranted  the 
trouble,  some  other  "fixin's"  in  a  day  or  two. 

"You  can  come  and  eat  a  bit  with  me  about  sun-down," 
said  Dan,  doggedly,  as  he  withdrew,  for  he  was  not  yet 
quite  satisfied  what  projects  the  stranger  nursed  in  his 
bosom. 

Resolved  to  make  the  best  of  a  situation  not  over- 
promising,  to  go  with  the  humor  of  his  host  so  far  as  he 
could,  and  even,  where  possible,  try  and  derive  some  amuse- 
ment from  his  eccentricities,  Layton  presented  himself 
punctually  at  meal-time.  The  supper  was  laid  out  in  a 
large  kitchen,  where  an  old  negress  officiated  as  cook.  It 
was  abundant  and  savory;  there  was  every  imaginable 
variety  of  bread,  and  the  display  of  dishes  was  imposing. 
The  circumstance  was,  however,  explained  by  Heron's 
remarking  that  it  was  the  supper  of  the  officers  of  the 
detachment  they  were  eating,  a  sudden  call  to  the  frontier 


-A  NEW  LOCATION.  413 

having  that  same  morning  arrived,  and  to  this  lucky  acci- 
dent were  the}^  indebted  for  this  abundance. 

An  apple-brandy  "smash"  of  Mr.  Heron's  own  devising 
wound  up  the  meal,  and  the  two  lighted  their  cigars,  and  in 
all  the  luxurious  ease  of  their  rocking-chairs,  enjoyed  their 
post-prandial  elysium. 

"Them  boots  of  yours  is  English  make,"  was  Mr.  Heron's 
first  remark,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Yes,  London,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"I've  been  there;  I  don't  like  it." 

Layton  muttered  some  expression  of  regret  at  this  senti- 
ment ;  but  the  other  not  heeding  went  on :  — 

"I've  seen  most  parts  of  the  world,  but  there  ain't  any- 
thing to  compare  with  this." 

Layton  was  not  certain  whether  it  was  the  supremacy  of 
America  he  asserted,  or  the  city  of  Bunkumville  in  particu' 
lar,  but  he  refrained  from  inquiring,  preferring  to  let  the 
other  continue;  nor  did  he  seem  at  all  unwilling.  He  went 
on  to  give  a  half-connected  account  of  a  migratory  adven- 
turous sort  of  life  at  home  and  abroad.  He  had  been  a 
cook  on  shipboard,  a  gold-digger,  an  auctioneer,  a  show- 
man, dealt  in  almost  every  article  of  commerce,  smuggled 
opium  into  China  and  slaves  into  New  Orleans,  and  with 
all  his  experiences  had  somehow  or  other  not  hit  upon  the 
right  road  to  fortune.  Not,  indeed,  that  he  distrusted  his 
star,  —  far  from  it.  He  believed  himself  reserved  for  great 
things,  and  never  felt  more  certain  of  being  within  their 
reach  than  at  this  moment. 

"It  was  I  made  this  city  we  're  in,  sir,"  said  he,  proudly. 
"I  built  all  that  mass  yonder,  — Briggs  Block;  I  built  the 
house  we  're  sitting  in;  I  built  that  Apollonicon,  the  music- 
hall  you  saw  as  you  came  in,  and  I  lectured  there  too;  and 
if  it  were  not  for  an  old  '  rough '  that  won't  keep  off  his 
bitters  early  of  a  mornin',  I  'd  be  this  day  as  rich  as  John 
Jacob  Astor:  that's  what's  ruined  me,  sir.  I  brought  him 
from  New  York  with  me  down  here,  and  there  's  nothing 
from  a  bird-cage  to  a  steam-boiler  that  fellow  can't  make 
you  when  he  's  sober,  —  ay,  and  describe  it  too.  If  you 
only  heerd  him  talk!  Well,  he  made  a  telegraph  here,  and 
set  two  saw-mills  a-goin',  and  made  a  machine  for  getting 


414  ONE   OF  THEM. 

the  salt  out  of  that  lake  yonder,  and  then  took  to  manufac- 
turin'  macaroni  and  gunpowder,  and  some  dye-stuff  out  of 
oak  bark ;  and  what  will  you  say,  stranger,  when  I  tell  you 
that  he  sold  each  of  these  inventions  for  less  than  gave  him 
a  week's  carouse?  And  now  I  have  him  here,  under  lock 
and  key,  waiting  till  he  comes  to  hisself,  which  he  's  rather 
long  about  this  time." 

"Is  he  ill?  "  asked  Layton. 

"Well,  you  can't  say  exactly  he's  all  right;  he  gave  his- 
self an  ugly  gash  with  a  case-knife  on  the  neck,  aud  tried 
to  blow  hisself  up  arter  with  some  combustible  stuff',  so  that 
he's  rather  black  about  the  complexion;  and  then  he's 
always  a-screechin'  and  yellin'  for  drink,  but  I  go  in  at 
times  with  a  heavy  whip,  and  he  ain't  unreasonable  then." 

"He's  mad,  in  fact,"  said  Layton,  gravely. 

"I  only  wish  you  and  I  was  as  sane,  stranger,"  said  the 
other.  "There  ain't  that  place  on  the  globe  old  Poll,  as 
we  call  him,  couldn't  make  a  liviu'  in;  he  's  a  man  as  could 
help  a  minister  with  his  discourse,  or  teach  a  squaw  how  to 
work  moccasins.  I  don't  know  what  your  trade  is,  but  I  '11 
be  bound  he  knows  something  about  it  you  never  heerd  of." 

Mr.  Heron  went  on  to  prove  how  universally  gifted  his 
friend  was  by  mentioning  how,  on  his  first  arrival,  he  gave 
a  course  of  lectures  on  a  plan  which  assuredly  might  have 
presented  obstacles  to  many.  It  was  only  when  the  room 
was  filled,  and  the  public  itself  consulted,  that  the  theme  of 
the  lecture  was  determined ;  so  that  the  speaker  was  actually 
called  upon,  without  a  moment  for  preparation,  to  expatiate 
upon  any  given  subject.  Nor  was  the  test  less  trying  that 
the  hearers  were  plain  practical  folk,  who  usually  pro- 
pounded questions  in  which  they  possessed  some  knowledge 
themselves.  How  to  open  a  new  clearing,  what  treatment 
to  apply  to  the  bite  of  the  whipsuake,  by  what  contrivance 
to  economize  water  in  mills,  how  to  tan  leather  without  oak 
bark,  —  such  and  such-like  were  the  theses  placed  before 
him,  matters  on  which  the  public  could  very  sufficiently 
pronounce  themselves.  Old  Poll,  it  would  seem,  had  sus- 
tained every  test,  and  come  through  every  ordeal  of  demand 
victorious.  While  the  host  thus  continued  to  expatiate  on 
this  man's  marvellous  gifts,  Layton  fell  a-thinking  whether 


-A  NEW  LOCATION.  415 

this  might  not  be  the  very  spot  he  sought  for,  and  this  the 
audience  before  whom  he  could  experiment  on  as  a  public 
speaker.  It  was  quite  evident  that  the  verdict  could  confer 
little  either  of  distinction  or  disparagement:  success  or 
failure  were,  as  regarded  the  future,  not  important.  If, 
however,  he  could  succeed  in  interesting  them  at  all,  —  if 
he  could  make  the  themes  of  which  they  had  never  so  much 
as  heard  in  any  way  amusing  or  engaging,  —  it  would  be 
a  measure  of  what  he  might  attain  with  more  favorable 
hearers.  He  at  once  propounded  his  plan  to  Mr.  Heron,  not 
confessing,  however,  that  he  meditated  a  first  attempt,  but 
speaking  as  an  old  and  practised  lecturer. 

"What  can  you  give  'em,  sir?  They  're  horny-handed  and 
flat-footed  folk  down  here,  but  they  '11  not  take  an  old  hen 
for  a  Bucks  county  chicken,  I  tell  you  !  " 

"I  am  a  little  in  your  friend  Poll's  line,"  said  Layton, 
good-humoredly.  "I  could  talk  to  them  about  history,  and 
long  ago;  what  kind  of  men  ruled  amongst  Greeks  and 
Romans ;  what  sort  of  wars  they  waged ;  how  they  colonized, 
and  what  they  did  with  the  conquered.  If  my  hearers  had 
patience  for  it,  I  could  give  them  some  account  of  their 
great  orators  and  poets." 

Heron  shook  his  head  dissentingly,  and  said  Poll  told  'em 
all  that,  and  nobody  wanted  it,  till  he  came  to  them  chaps 
they  call  the  gladiators,  and  showed  how  they  used  to  spar 
and  hit  out.  "Wasn't  it  grand  to  see  him,  with  his  great 
chest  and  strong  old  arms,  describin'  all  their  movements, 
and  how  much  they  trusted  to  activity,  imitating  all  from 
the  wild  beast,  —  not  like  our  boxers,  who  make  fighting  a 
reg'lar  man's  combat.  You  couldn't  take  up  that,  could 
you?" 

"I  fear  not,"  said  Layton,  despondingly. 

"Well,  tell  'em  something  of  the  old  country  in  a  time 
near  their  own.  They  'd  like  to  hear  about  their  great- 
grandfathers and  grandmothers." 

"Would  they  listen  to  me  if  I  made  Ireland  the  subject, 
—  Ireland  just  before  she  was  incorporated  with  England, 
when,  with  a  Parliament  of  her  own,  she  had  a  resident 
gentry,  separate  institutions,  and  strong  traits  of  individual 
nationality?" 


416  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"Tell  'em  about  fellows  that  had  strong  heads  and  stout 
hands,  that,  though  they  mightn't  always  be  right  in  their 
opinions,  was  willing  and  ready  to  fight  for  'em.  Give  'em 
a  touch  of  the  way  they  talked  in  their  House  of  Parliament; 
and  if  you  can  bring  in  a  story  or  two,  and  make  'em 
laugh,  —  it  ain't  a'ways  easy  to  do,  — but  if  you  cati  do  it, 
you  may  travel  from  Cape  Cod  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and 
never  change  a  dollar." 

"Here  goes,  then!  I  '11  try  it!  "  said  Layton,  at  once  de- 
termined to  risk  the  effort.     "When  can  it  be?" 

"It  must  be  at  once,  for  there  's  a  number  of  'em  a-goin' 
"West  next  week.  Say  to-morrow  night,  seven  o'clock. 
Entrance,  twelve  cents;  first  chairs,  five-and-twenty.  No 
smokin'  allowed,  except  between  the  acts." 

"Take  all  the  arrangements  on  yourself,  and  give  me 
what  you  think  fair  of  our  profits,"  said  Layton. 

"That's  reasonable;  no  man  can  say  it  ain't.  What's 
your  name,  stranger  ?  " 

"My  name  is  Alfred —  But  never  mind  my  name; 
announce  me  as  a  Gentleman  from  England." 

"Who  has  lectured  before  the  Queen  and  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte." 

"Nay,  that  I  have  never  done." 

"Well,  but  you  might,  you  know;  and  if  you  didn't,  the 
greater  loss  theirs." 

"Perhaps  so;  but  I  can't  consent  —  " 

"Just  leave  them  things  to  me.  And  now,  one  hint  for 
yourself:  when  you  're  a-windin'  up,  dash  it  all  with  a  little 
soft  sawder,  sayin'  as  how  you  'd  rather  be  addressin'  them 
than  the  Emperor  of  Roosia ;  that  the  sight  of  men  as  loves 
liberty,  and  knows  how  to  keep  it,  is  as  good  as  Peat's 
vegetable  balsam,  that  warms  the  heart  without  feverin'  the 
blood;  and  that  wherever  you  go  the  'membrance  of  the  city 
and  its  enlightened  citizens  will  be  the  same  as  photo- 
graphed on  your  heart;  that  there  's  men  here  ought  to  be  in 
Congress,  and  women  fit  for  queens !  And  if  you  throw  in 
a  bit  of  the  star-spangled  —  you  know  what  —  it'll  do  no 
harm." 

Layton  only  smiled  at  these  counsels,  offered,  however, 
in  a  spirit  far  from  jesting;  and  after  a  little  further  dis- 


A  NEW  LOCATION.  417 

cussion  of  the  plan,  Heron  said,  "Oh,  if  we  only  could 
get  old  Poll  bright  enough  to  write  the  placards,  —  that 's 
what  he  excels  in;  there  ain't  his  equal  for  capitals  any- 
where." 

Though  Laytou  felt  very  little  desire  to  have  the  individ- 
ual referred  to  associated  with  him  or  his  scheme,  he  trusted 
to  the  impossibility  of  the  alliance,  and  gave  himself  no 
trouble  to  repudiate  it;  and  after  a  while  they  parted,  with 
a  good-night  and  hope  for  the  morrow. 


27 


CHAPTER  XLin. 

BUNKUMVILLE. 

"You  would  n't  believe  it,  —  no  one  would  believe  it,"  said 
Mr.  Heron,  as  he  hastily  broke  in  upon  Layton  the  next 
morning,  deep  in  preparations  for  the  coming  event. 
"There's  old  Poll  all  spry  and  right  again;  he  asked  for 
water  to  shave  himself,  an  invariable  sign  with  him  that  he 
was  a-goin'  to  try  a  new  course." 

Layton,  not  caring  to  open  again  what  might  bear  upon 
this  history,  merely  asked  some  casual  question  upon  the 
arrangements  for  the  evening;  but  Heron  rejoined:  "I  told 
Poll  to  do  it  all.  The  news  seemed  to  revive  him;  and  far 
from,  as  I  half  dreaded,  any  jealousy  about  another  taking 
his  place,  he  said,  '  This  looks  like  a  promise  of  better 
things  down  here.  If  our  Bunkumville  folk  will  only  en- 
courage lecturers  to  come  amongst  them,  their  tone  of 
thinking  and  speaking  will  improve.  They  '11  do  their 
daily  work  in  a  better  spirit,  and  enjoy  their  leisure  with  a 
higher  zest.'  " 

"Strange  sentiments  from  one  such  as  you  pictured  to  me 
last  night." 

"Lord  love  ye,  that 's  his  way.  He  beats  all  the  Temper- 
ance 'Postles  about  condemning  drink.  He  can  tell  more 
anecdotes  of  the  mischief  it  works,  explain  better  its  evil  on 
the  health,  and  the  injury  it  works  in  a  man's  natur',  than 
all  the  talkers  ever  came  out  of  the  Mayne  Convention." 

"  Which  scarcely  says  much  for  the  force  of  his  convic- 
tions," said  Layton,  smiling. 

"I  only  wish  he  heard  you  say  so,  Britisher;  if  he 
would  n't  chase  you  up  a  pretty  high  tree,  call  me  a  land 
crab !  I  remember  well,  one  night,  how  he  lectured  on  that 
very  point,  and  showed  that  what  was  vulgarly  called  hypoc- 


'  BUNKUMVILLE.  419 

risy  was  jest  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  diseased  and 
exaggerated  love  of  approbation, — them's  his  words;  I 
took  'em  down  and  showed  'em  to  him  next  morning,  and 
all  he  said  was,  *  I  suppose  I  said  it  ai'ter  dinner.'  " 

"Am  I  to  see  your  friend  and  make  his  acquaintance?" 
asked  Laytou. 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  with  some  hesitation,  "1  rayther 
suspect  not;  he  said  as  much  that  he  did  n't  like  meeting 
any  one  from  the  old  country.  It 's  my  idea  that  he  waru't 
over  well  treated  there,  somehow,  though  he  won't  say  it." 

"But  as  one  who  has  never  seen  him  before,  and  in  all 
likelihood  is  never  to  see  him  again  —  " 

"No  use;  whenever  he  makes  up  his  mind  in  that  quiet 
way  he  never  changes,  and  he  said,  '  I  '11  do  all  you  want, 
only  don't  briug  me  forward.  I  have  my  senses  now,  and 
shame  is  one  of  'em ! '  " 

"You  increase  my  desire  to  see  and  know  this  poor 
fellow." 

"Mayhap  you're  a-thinkin',  Britisher,  whether,  if  you 
could  wile  him  away  from  me^  you  could  n't  do  a  good 
stroke  of  work  with  him  down  South, — eh?  wasn't  that 
it?" 

"No,  on  my  word;  nothing  of  the  kind.  My  desire  was 
simply  to  know  if  I  could  n't  serve  him  where  he  was,  and 
where  he  is  probably  to  remain." 

"Where  he  is  sartainly  to  remain,  I'd  say,  sir, — sar- 
tainly  to  remain !  I  'd  rayther  give  up  the  Temple,  ay,  and 
all  the  fixin's,  than  I  'd  give  up  that  man.  There  ain't  one 
spot  in  creation  he  ain't  fit  for.  Take  him  North,  and  he  '11 
beat  all  the  Abolitionists  ever  talked;  bring  him  down  to 
the  old  South  State,  and  hear  him  how  he  '11  make  out  that 
the  Bible  stands  by  slavery,  and  that  Blacks  are  to  Whites 
what  children  are  to  their  elders,  —  a  sort  of  folk  to  be  fed, 
and  nourished,  and  looked  arter,  and,  maybe,  cor-rected  a 
little  betimes.  Fetch  him  up  to  Lowell,  and  he  '11  teach  the 
factory  folk  in  their  own  mills;  and  as  to  the  art  of  stump- 
raisin',  rotation  of  crops  in  a  new  soil,  fattenin'  hogs,  and 
curin'  salmon,  jest  show  me  one  to  compare  with  him!  " 

"How  sad  that  such  a  man  should  be  lost!  "  said  Lay  ton, 
half  to  himself. 


420  ONE  OF  THEM. 

But  the  other  overheard  him,  and  rejoined:  "It's  always 
with  some  sentiment  of  that  kind  you  Britishers  work  out 
something  for  your  own  benefit.  You  never  conquer  a  new 
territory  except  to  propagate  trial  by  jury  and  habeas  cor- 
pus. Now  look  out  here,  for  I  won't  stand  you  're  steppin' 
in  'tween  me  and  old  Poll." 

It  was  not  enough  for  Layton  to  protest  that  he  harbored 
no  such  intentions.  Mr.  Heron's  experiences  of  mankind 
had  inspired  very  different  lessons  than  those  of  trust  and 
confidence,  and  he  secretly  determined  that  no  opportunity 
should  be  given  to  carry  out  the  treason  he  dreaded. 

*'When  the  lecturin'-room  is  a-clean  swept  out  and 
dusted,  the  table  placed,  and  the  blackboard  with  a  piece  of 
chalk  ahind  it,  and  the  bills  a-posted,  setting  forth  what 
you  're  a-goin'  to  stump  out,  there  ain't  no  need  for  more. 
If  you  've  got  the  stufi"  in  you  to  amuse  our  folk,  you  '11  see 
the  quarter  dollars  a-rollin'  in,  in  no  time!  If  they  think, 
however,  that  you  're  only  come  here  to  sell  'em  grit  for  buck- 
wheat, darm  me  considerable,  but  there  's  lads  here  would 
treat  you  to  a  cowhide !  " 

Layton  did  not  hear  this  alternative  with  all  the  conscious 
security  of  success,  not  to  say  that  it  was  a  penalt}'  on  fail- 
ure far  more  severe  and  practical  than  any  his  fears  had 
ever  anticipated.  Coldness  he  was  prepared  for,  disappro- 
bation he  might  endure,  but  he  was  not  ready  to  be  treated 
as  a  cheat  and  impostor  because  he  had  not  satisfied  the 
expectancies  of  an  audience. 

"I  half  regret,"  said  he,  "that  I  should  not  have  learned 
something  more  of  your  public  before  making  my  appear- 
ance to  them.     It  may  not  be,  perhaps,  too  late." 

"Well,  I  suspect  it  is  too  late,"  said  the  other,  dryly. 
"They  won't  stand  folks  a-postin'  up  bills,  and  then  sayiu' 
'There  ain't  no  performance.'  You're  not  in  the  Hay- 
market,  sir,  where  you  can  come  out  with  a  flam  about 
sudden  indisposition,  and  a  lie  signed  by  a  'pottecary." 

"But  if  I  leave  the  town?  " 

"I  wouldn't  say  you  mightn't,  if  you  had  a  bal-loon," 
said  the  other,  laughing;  "but  as  to  any  other  way,  I  defy 
you !  " 

Layton  was  not  altogether  without  the  suspicion  that  Mr. 


'   BUNKUMVILLE,  421 

Heron  was  trying  to  play  upon  his  fears,  and  this  was 
exactly  the  sort  of  outrage  that  a  mind  like  his  would  least 
tolerate.  It  was,  to  be  sure,  a  wild,  out-of-the-world  kind 
of  place;  the  people  were  a  rough,  semi-civilized-looking 
set;  public  opinion  in  such  a  spot  might  take  a  rude  form; 
what  they  deemed  unequal  to  their  expectations,  they  might 
construe  as  a  fraud  upon  their  pockets ;  and  if  so,  and  that 
their  judgment  should  take  the  form  he  hinted  at  —  Still, 
he  was  reluctant  to  accept  this  version  of  the  case,  and 
stood  deeply  pondering  what  line  to  adopt. 

"You  don't  like  it,  stranger;  now  that's  a  fact,"  said 
Heron,  as  he  scanned  his  features.  "You  've  been  a-think- 
in',  '  Oh,  any  rubbish  I  like  will  be  good  enough  for  these 
bark-cutters.  What  should  such  fellows  know,  except  about 
their  corn  crops  and  their  saw-mills?  /  needn't  ti'ouble 
my  head  about  what  I  talk  to  'em.'  But  now,  you  see,  it 
ain't  so;  you  begin  to  perceive  that  Jonathan,  with  his 
sleeves  rolled  up  for  work,  is  a  smart  man,  who  keeps  his 
brains  oiled  and  his  thoughts  polished,  like  one  of  Piatt's 
engines,  and  it  won't  do  to  ask  him  to  make  French  rolls 
out  of  sawdust!  " 

Layton  was  still  silent,  partly  employed  in  reviewing  the 
difficulty  of  his  position,  but  even  more,  perhaps,  from 
chagrin  at  the  tone  of  impertinence  addressed  to  him. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Heron,  continuing  an  imaginary  dia- 
logue with  himself, — "yes,  sir;  that's  a  mistake  more 
than  one  of  your  countrymen  has  fallen  into.  As  Mr.  Clay 
said,  it 's  so  hard  for  an  Englishman  not  to  think  of  us  as 
colonists." 

"I've  made  up  my  mind,"  said  Layton,  at  last.  "I'll 
not  lecture." 

"Won't  you?  Then  all  I  can  say  is,  Britisher,  look  out 
for  a  busy  arternoon.  I  told  you  what  our  people  was.  I 
warned  you  that  if  they  struck  work  an  hour  earlier  to  listen 
to  a  preacher,  it  would  fare  ill  with  him  if  he  wanted  the 
mill  to  turn  without  water." 

"I  repeat,  I  '11  not  lecture,  come  what  may  of  it,"  said 
Layton,  firmly. 

"Well,  it  ain't  so  very  hard  to  guess  what  will  come  of 
it,"  replied  the  other. 


422  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"This  is  all  nonsense  and  folly,  sir,"  said  Layton, 
angrily.  "I  have  taken  no  man's  money;  I  have  deceived 
no  one.  Your  people,  when  I  shall  have  left  this  place, 
will  be  no  worse  than  when  I  entered  it." 

"If  that 's  your  platform,  stranger,  come  out  and  defend  it; 
we  '11  have  a  meetin'  called,  and  I  promise  you  a  fair  hearin'." 

"I  have  no  account  to  render  to  any.  I  am  not  respon- 
sible for  my  conduct  to  one  of  you!  "  said  Layton,  angrily. 

"You're  a-beggin'  the  whole  question,  stranger;  so  jest 
keep  these  .arguments  for  the  meetin'." 

"Meeting!  I  will  attend  no  meeting!  Whatever  be  your 
local  ways  and  habits,  you  have  no  right  to  impose  them 
upon  a  stranger.  I  am  not  one  of  you ;  I  will  not  be  one 
of  you." 

"That's  more  of  the  same  sort  of  reasonin' ;  but  you '11 
be  chastised,  Britisher,  see  if  you  ain't!  " 

"Let  me  have  some  sort  of  conveyance,  or,  if  need  be,  a 
horse.  I  will  leave  this  at  once.  Any  expenses  I  have 
incurred  I  am  ready  to  pay.     You  hear  me  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  hear  you,  but  that  ain't  enough.  You  're  bound 
by  them  bills,  as  you  '11  see  stickin'  up  all  through  the  town, 
to  appear  this  evening  and  deliver  a  lecture  before  the 
people  of  this  city  —  " 

"One  word  for  all,  I  '11  not  do  it." 

"And  do  you  tell  me,  sir,  that  when  our  folk  is  a-gath- 
erin'  about  the  assembly  rooms,  that  they  're  to  be  told  to 
go  home  ag'in;  that  the  Britisher  has  changed  his  mind, 
and  feels  someways  as  if  he  didn't  like  it?" 

"That  may  be  as  it  can;  my  determination  is  fixed. 
You  may  lecture  yourself;  or  you  can,  perhaps,  induce  your 
friend  —  I  forget  his  name  —  to  favor  the  company." 

"Well,  sir,  if  old  Poll's  strength  was  equal  to  it,  the  pub- 
lic would  n't  have  to  regret  you.  It  ain't  one  of  your  stamp 
could  replace  him,  that  I  tell  you." 

A  sudden  thought  here  flashed  across  Layton' s  mind,  and 
he  hastened  to  profit  by  it. 

"Why  not  ask  him  to  take  my  place?  I  am  ready,  most 
ready,  to  requite  his  services.  Tell  him,  if  you  like,  that  I 
will  pay  all  the  expenses  of  the  evening,  and  leave  him  the 
receipts.     Or  say,  if  he  prefer,  that  I  will  give  him  thirty, 


-  BUNKUMVILLE.  423 

forty,  ay,  fifty  dollars,  if  he  will  relieve  me  from  an  engage- 
ment I  have  no  mind  for." 

"Well,  that  does  sound  a  bit  reasonable,"  said  the  other, 
slowly;  "though,  mayhap,  he  '11  not  think  the  terms  so  high. 
You  would  n't  say  eighty,  or  a  hundred,  would  you?  He  's 
proud,  old  Poll,  and  it 's  best  not  to  offend  him  by  a  mean 
offer." 

Layton  bit  his  lip  impatiently,  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room  without  speaking. 

"Not  to  say,"  resumed  Heron,  "that  he's  jest  out  of 
a  sick-bed;  the  exertion  might  give  him  a  relapse.  The 
con-tingencies  is  to  be  calc'lated,  as  they  say  on  the  rail- 
roads." 

"If  it  be  only  a  question  between  fifty  and  eighty  —  " 

"That's  it,  — well  spoken.  Well,  call  it  a  hundred,  and 
I'm  off  to  see  if  it  can't  be  done."  And  without  waiting 
for  a  reply.  Heron  hastened  out  of  the  room  as  he  spoke. 

Notwithstanding  the  irritation  the  incident  caused  him, 
Layton  could  not,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  alone,  avoid 
laughing  at  the  absurdity  of  his  situation. 

If  he  never  went  the  full  length  of  believing  in  the  hazard- 
ous consequences  Mr.  Heron  predicted,  he  at  least  saw  that 
he  must  be  prepared  for  any  mark  of  public  disfavor  his 
disappointment  might  excite;  and  it  was  just  possible  such 
censure  might  assume  a  very  unpleasant  shape.  The  edicts 
of  Judge  Lynch  are  not  always  in  accordance  with  the  dig- 
nity of  the  accused,  and  though  this  consideration  first 
forced  him  to  laugh,  his  second  thoughts  were  far  graver. 
Nor  were  these  thoughts  unmixed  with  doubts  as  to  what 
Quackinboss  would  say  of  the  matter.  Would  he  condemn 
the  rashness  of  his  first  pledge,  or  the  timidity  of  his  re- 
treat; or  would  he  indignantly  blame  him  for  submission  to 
a  menace?  In  the  midst  of  these  considerations,  Heron  re- 
entered the  room. 

"There,  sir;  it 's  all  signed  and  sealed.  Old  Poll 's  to  do 
the  work,  and  you  're  to  be  too  ill  to  appear.  That  will 
require  your  stayin'  here  till  nightfall :  but  when  the  folks 
is  at  the  hall,  you  can  slip  through  the  town  and  make  for 
New  Lebanon." 

"And  I  am  to  pay  —  how  much  did  you  say  ?  " 


424  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"What  you  proposed  yourself,  sir.     A  hundred  dollars." 

"At  eight  o'clock,  then,  let  me  have  a  wagon  ready," 
said  Layton,  too  much  irritated  with  his  own  conduct  to  be 
moved  by  anything  in  that  of  his  host.  He  therefore  paid 
little  attention  to  Mr.  Heron's  account  of  all  the  ingenuity 
and  address  it  had  cost  him  to  induce  old  Poll  to  become 
his  substitute,  nor  would  he  listen  to  one  word  of  the  con- 
versation reported  to  have  passed  on  that  memorable  occa- 
sion. What  cared  he  to  hear  how  old  Poll  looked  ten  years 
younger  since  the  bargain?  He  was  to  be  dressed  like  a 
gentleman ;  he  was  to  be  in  full  black ;  he  was  to  resume  all 
the  dignity  of  the  station  he  had  once  held;  while  he  gave 
the  public  what  he  had  hitherto  resolutely  refused,  —  some 
account  of  himself  and  his  own  life.  Layton  turned  away 
impatiently  at  these  details ;  they  were  all  associated  with 
too  much  that  pained  to  interest  or  to  please  him. 

"The  matter  is  concluded  now,  and  let  me  hear  no  more 
of  it,"  said  he,  peevishly.  "I  start  at  eight."  And  with 
this  he  turned  away,  leaving  no  excuse  to  his  host  to  re- 
main, or  resume  an  unpalatable  subject. 

"Your  wagon  shall  be  here  at  the  hour,  and  a  smart  pair 
of  horses  to  bowl  you  along,  sir,"  said  Heron,  too  well 
satisfied  on  the  whole  to  be  annoyed  by  a  passing  coldness. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

THE    LECTURER. 

Alfred  Layton's  day  dragged  drearily  along,  watching  and 
waiting  for  tlie  hour  of  departure.  Close  prisoner  as  he  was, 
the  time  hung  heavily  on  his  hands,  without  a  book  or  any 
sort  of  companionship  to  beguile  its  weariness.  He  tried 
various  ways  to  pass  the  hours ;  he  pondered  over  a  faintly 
colored  and  scarce  traceable  map  on  the  walls.  It  repre- 
sented America,  with  all  the  great  western  annexations,  in 
that  condition  of  vague  obscurity  in  which  geographers  were 
wont  to  depict  the  Arctic  regions.  He  essayed  to  journalize 
his  experiences  on  the  road  ;  but  he  lost  patience  in  recording 
the  little  incidents  which  composed  them.  He  endeavored 
to  take  counsel  with  himself  about  his  future ;  but  he  lost 
heart  in  the  inquiry,  as  he  bethought  him  how  little  direction 
he  had  ever  given  hitherto  to  his  life,  and  how  completely  he 
had  been  the  sport  of  accident. 

He  was  vexed  and  angry  with  himself.  It  was  the  first 
time  he  had  been  called  upon  to  act  by  his  own  guidance  for 
months  back,  and  he  had  made  innumerable  mistakes  in  the 
attempt.  Had  Quackinboss  been  with  him,  he  well  knew  all 
these  blunders  had  been  avoided.  This  reflection  pained 
him,  just  as  it  has  pained  many  a  gifted  and  accomplished 
man  to  think  that  life  and  the  world  are  often  more  difficult 
than  book-learning. 

He  was  too  much  out  of  temper  with  the  town  to  interest 
himself  in  what  went  on  beneath  his  windows,  and  only 
longed  for  night,  that  he  might  leave  it  never  to  return.  At 
last  the  day  began  to  wane,  the  shadows  fell  longer  across 
the  empty  street,  some  cawing  rooks  swept  over  the  tree- 
tops  to  their  homes  in  the  tall  pines,  and  an  occasional 
wagon  rolled  heavily  by,  with  field  implements  in  it,  —  signs 


426  ONE   OF  THEM. 

all  that  the  hours  of  labor  had  drawn  to  a  close.  "  I  shall 
soon  be  off,"  muttered  he;  "soon  hastening  away  from  a 
spot  whose  memory  will  be  a  nightmare  to  me."  In  the 
gray  half-light  he  sat,  thinking  the  thought  which  has  found 
its  way  into  so  many  hearts.  What  meaning  have  these 
little  episodes  of  loneliness  ?  What  are  the  lessons  they  are 
meant  to  teach  ?  Are  they  intended  to  attach  us  more  closely 
to  those  we  love,  by  showing  how  wearily  life  drags  on  in 
absence  from  them ;  or  are  they  meant  as  seasons  of  repose, 
in  which  we  may  gain  strength  for  fresh  efforts  ? 

Mr.  Heron  broke  in  upon  these  musings.  He  came  to  say 
that  crowds  were  hurrying  to  the  lecture-room,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  more  Layton  might  steal  away,  and,  reaching  the 
outskirts  of  the  town,  gain  the  wagon  that  was  to  convey 
him  to  Lebanon. 

"  You  '11  not  forget  this  place,  I  reckon,"  said  he,  as  he 
assisted  Layton  to  close  and  fasten  up  his  carpet-bag. 
"You'll  be  proud,  one  of  these  days,  to  say,  'I  was  there 
some  five-and-twenty,  or  maybe  thirty,  yeai's  back.  There 
was  only  one  what  you  'd  call  a  first-rate  hotel  in  the  town  ; 
it  was  kept  by  a  certain  Dan  Heron,  the  man  that  made 
Bunkumville,  who  built  Briggs  Block  and  the  Apollonicon. 
I  knew  him,'     Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  hear  you  sayin'  it." 

"  I  half  suspect  you  are  mistaken,  my  friend,"  said  Lay- 
ton,  peevishl3^  "  Hive  in  the  hope  never  to  hear  the  name 
of  this  place  again,  as  assuredly  I  am  determined  never  to 
speak  of  it." 

"  Well,  you  Britishers  can't  help  envy,  that's  a  fact,"  said 
Heron,  with  a  sigh  that  showed  how  deeply  he  felt  this 
unhappy  infirmity.  "  Take  a  glass  of  something  to  warm 
you,  and  let 's  be  movin'.  I  '11  see  you  safe  through  the 
town." 

Layton  thankfully  accepted  his  guidance,  and,  each  taking 
a  share  of  the  luggage,  they  set  forth  into  the  street.  Night 
was  now  fast  falling,  and  they  could  move  along  without 
any  danger  of  detection;  but,  besides  this,  there  were  few 
abroad,  the  unaccustomed  attraction  of  the  lecture-room 
having  drawn  nearly  all  in  that  direction.  Little  heeding 
the  remarks  by  which  Heron  beguiled  the  way,  Layton  moved 
on,  only  occupied  with  the  thought  of  how  soon  he  would  be 


'THE   LECTURER.  427 

miles  away  from  this  unloved  spot,  when  his  companion 
suddenly  arrested  his  attention  by  grasping  his  arm,  as  he 
said,  '-There;  did  you  hear  that?" 

"  Hear  what?"  asked  Layton,  impatiently. 

"  The  eheerin',  the  shoutin'  !  That's  for  old  Poll.  It's 
the  joy  of  our  folk  to  see  the  old  boy  once  more  about.  It 
would  be  well  for  some  of  our  public  men  if  they  were  half 
as  popular  in  their  own  States  as  he  is  with  the  people  down 
here.     There  it  is  again !  " 

Layton  was  not  exactly  in  the  fit  humor  to  sympathize 
with  this  success,  and  neither  the  lecturer  nor  his  audience 
engaged  any  large  share  of  his  good-will ;  he,  therefore, 
merely  muttered  an  impatient  wish  to  get  along,  while  he 
quickened  his  own  pace  in  example. 

"  Well,  I  never  heerd  greater  applause  than  that.  They  're 
at  it  again  !  " 

A  wild  burst  of  uproarious  enthusiasm  at  the  same  moment 
burst  forth  and  filled  the  air. 

"There  ain't  no  mockery  there,  stranger,"  said  Heron; 
"  that  ain't  like  the  cheer  the  slaves  in  the  Old  World  greet 
their  kings  with,  while  the  police  stands  by  to  make  a  note 
of  the  men  as  has  n't  yelled  loud  enough."  This  taunt  was 
wrung  from  him  by  the  insufferable  apathy  of  Layton's 
manner ;  but  even  the  bitterness  of  the  sneer  failed  to  excite 
retort. 

"  Is  this  our  shortest  road?  "  was  all  the  reply  he  made. 

"  No;  this  will  save  us  something,"  said  Heron,  with  the 
quickness  of  one  inspired  by  a  sudden  thought ;  and  at  the 
same  instant  he  turned  into  a  narrow  street  on  his  left. 

They  walked  briskly  along  for  a  few  minutes  without 
speaking,  when,  suddenly  turning  the  angle  of  the  way,  they 
found  themselves  directly  in  front  of  the  assembly-room, 
from  whose  three  great  doors  the  light  streamed  boldly  out 
across  the  great  square  before  it.  The  place  seemed  densely 
thronged,  and  even  on  the  pillars  outside  persons  were 
grouped,  anxious  at  this  cheap  expedient  to  participate  in 
the  pleasure  of  the  lecture.  By  this  time  all  was  hushed  and 
quiet,  and  it  was  evident  by  the  rapt  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence that  all  were  eagerly  bent  on  listening  to  the  words  of 
the  speaker. 


428  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Why  have  we  come  this  way  ? ''  asked  Layton,  peevishly. 

"Jest  that  you  might  see  that  sight  yonder,  sir,"  said 
Heron,  calmly;  "that  you  might  carry  away  with  you  the 
recollection  of  a  set  of  hard-worked,  horny-handed  men, 
laborin'  like  Turks  for  a  livin',  and  yet  ready  and  willin'  to 
give  out  of  their  hard  earnin's  to  listen  to  one  able  to  instruct 
or  improve  'em.  That 's  why  you  come  this  way,  stranger. 
Ain't  the  reason  a  good  one  ?  " 

Layton  did  not  reply,  but  stood  watching  with  deep  inter- 
est the  scene  of  silent,  rapt  attention  in  the  crowded  room, 
from  which  now  not  the  slightest  sound  proceeded.  Drawn 
by  an  attraction  he  could  not  explain,  he  slowly  mounted  the 
steps  and  gained  a  place  near  the  door,  but  from  which  he 
was  unable  to  catch  sight  of  the  lecturer.  He  was  speaking ; 
but,  partly  from  the  distance,  and  in  part  from  the  low  tones 
of  his  voice,  Layton  could  not  hear  his  words.  Eager  to 
learn  by  what  sort  of  appeal  an  audience  like  this  could  be 
addressed,  —  curious  to  mark  the  tone  by  which  success  was 
achieved,  —  he  pushed  vigorously  onward  till  he  reached 
one  of  the  columns  that  supported  the  roof  of  the  hall,  and 
which,  acting  as  a  conductor,  conveyed  every  syllable  to  his 
ears.  The  lecturer's  voice,  artificially  raised  to  reach  the 
limits  of  the  room,  was  yet  full,  strong,  and  sonorous,  and 
it  was  managed  with  all  the  skill  of  a  practised  speaker.  He 
had  opened  his  address  by  mentioning  the  circumstances 
which  had  then  brought  him  before  them.  He  explained 
that  but  from  an  adverse  incident  —  a  passing  indisposition 
—  they  were  on  that  night  to  have  heard  one  of  those  accom- 
plished speakers  who  had  won  fame  and  honor  in  the  old 
country.  There  was  a  reserve  and  delicacy  in  the  mention 
of  the  circumstances  by  which  he  became  the  substitute  for 
this  person  that  struck  Layton  forcibly ;  he  was  neither  pre- 
pared for  the  sentiment  nor  the  style  of  the  orator;  l3ut, 
besides,  there  was  in  the  utterance  of  certain  words,  and  in 
an  occasional  cadence,  something  that  made  his  heart  beat 
quicker,  and  sent  a  strange  thrill  through  him. 

The  explanation  over,  there  was  a  pause,  —  a  pause  of 
silence  so  perfect  that  as  the  speaker  laid  down  the  glass  of 
water  he  had  been  drinking,  the  sound  was  heard  throughout 
the  room.    He  now  began,  his  voice  low,  his  words  measured, 


-  THE   LECTURER.  429 

his  manner  subdued.  Layton  could  not  follow  him  through- 
out, but  only  catch  enough  to  perceive  that  he  was  giving  a 
short  sketch  of  the  relative  conditions  of  England  and  Ire- 
land antecedent  to  the  Union.  He  pictured  the  one,  great, 
rich,  powerful,  and  iutolerant,  with  all  the  conscious  pride 
of  its  own  strength,  and  the  immeasurable  contempt  for 
whatever  differed  from  it ;  the  other,  bold,  daring,  and  defi- 
ant, not  at  all  aware  of  its  inability  to  cope  with  its  more 
powerful  neighbor  in  mere  force,  but  reposing  an  unbounded 
trust  in  its  superior  quickness,  its  readiness  of  resource,  its 
fertility  of  invention.  He  dwelt  considerably  on  those  Cel- 
tic traits  b}^  which  he  claimed  for  Irishmen  a  superiority  in 
all  those  casualties  of  life  which  demand  promptitude  and 
ready-wittedness. 

"  The  gentleman  who  was  to  have  occupied  this  chair  to- 
night," said  he,  raising  his  voice,  so  as  to  be  heard  through- 
out the  room,  "  would,  I  doubt  not,  have  given  you  a  very 
different  portrait,  and  delivered  a  very  different  judgment. 
You  would  at  this  moment  have  been  listening  to  a  descrip- 
tion of  that  great  old  country  we  are  all  so  proud  of,  en- 
deavoring, with  all  the  wise  prudence  of  a  careful  mother, 
to  train  up  a  wayward  and  capricious  child  in  the  paths  of 
virtue  and  obedience.  But  you  will  bear  more  patiently  with 
me ;  you  will  lend  me  a  more  favorable  hearing  and  a  kind- 
lier sympathy,  for  America,  too,  was  a  runaway  daughter, 
and  though  it  was  only  a  Gretna  Green  match  you  first  made 
with  Freedom,  you  have  lived  to  see  the  marriage  solemnized 
in  all  form,  and  acknowledged  by  the  whole  world." 

When  the  cheer  which  greeted  these  words  had  subsided, 
he  went  on  to  glance  at  what  might  possibly  have  been  the 
theme  of  the  other  lecturer  :  "  I  am  told,"  said  he,  —  "  for  I 
never  saw  him,  —  that  he  was  a  young,  a  very  young  man. 
But  to  speak  of  the  scenes  to  which  I  am  coming,  it  is  not 
enough  to  have  read,  studied,  and  reflected.  A  man  should 
have  done  more ;  he  ought  to  have  seen,  heard,  and  acted. 
These  confessions  are  bought  dearly,  for  it  is  at  the  price  of 
old  age  I  can  make  them ;  but  is  it  not  worth  old  age  to 
have  heard  Burke  in  all  the  majestic  grandeur  of  his  great 
powei's,  —  to  have  listened  to  the  scathing  whirlwind  of 
Grattan's  passion,  —  to  have  sat  beneath  the  gallery  when 


430 


ONE  OF  THEM. 


Flood  denounced  him,  and  that  terrible  duel  of  intellect  took 
place,  far  more  moving  than  the  pistol  encounter  that  fol- 
lowed it?  Ay,  I  knew  them  all !  I  have  jested  with  Parsons, 
laughed  with  Toler,  laughed  and  wept  both  with  poor  Curran. 
You  may  find  it  difficult  to  believe  that  he  who  now  addresses 
you  should  ever  have  moved  in  the  class  to  which  such  men 
pertained.  You  here,  whose  course  of  life,  sustained  by 
untiring  toil  and  animated  by  a  spirit  of  resolute  courage, 
moves  ever  upward,  who  are  better  to-day  than  yesterday, 
and  will  to-morrow  be  farther  on  the  road  than  to-day,  who 
labor  the  soil  of  which  your  grandchildren  will  be  the  proud 
possessors,  may  have  some  difficulty  in  tracing  a  career  of 
continued  descent,  and  will  be  slow  to  imagine  how  a  man 
could  fall  from  a  station  of  respectability  and  regard,  and 
be  —  such  as  I  am  !  " 

Just  as  the  speaker  had  uttered  these  words,  a  cry,  so  wild 
and  piercing  as  to  thrill  through  every  heart,  resounded 
through  the  building;  the  great  mass  of  men  seemed  to 
heave  and  swell  like  the  sea  in  a  storm.  It  was  one  of  those 
marvellous  moments  in  which  human  emotions  seem  whis- 
pered from  breast  to  breast,  and  men  are  moved  by  a  strange 
flood  of  sympathy ;  and  now  the  crowd  opened,  like  a  cleft 
wave,  to  give  passage  to  a  young  man,  who  with  a  strength 
that  seemed  supernatural  forced  his  way  to  the  front.  There 
was  that  in  his  wild,  excited  look  that  almost  bespoke  in- 
sanity, while  he  struggled  to  effect  his  passage. 

Astonished  by  the  scene  of  commotion  in  front  of  him, 
and  unable  to  divine  its  cause,  the  lecturer  haughtily  asked, 
"Who  comes  here  to  disturb  the  order  of  this  meeting?" 
The  answer  was  quickly  rendered,  as,  springing  over  the  rail 
that  fenced  the  stage,  Alfred  cried  out,  "My  father!  my 
father!  "  and,  throwing  his  arms  around  him,  pressed  him  to 
his  heart.  As  for  the  old  man,  he  stood  stunned  and  speech- 
less for  a  moment,  and  then  burst  into  tears. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

OF   BYGONES. 

Were  we  at  the  outset  instead  of  the  close  of  our  journey, 
we  could  not  help  dwelling  on  the  scene  the  lecture-room 
presented  as  the  discovery  became  whispered  throughout  the 
crowd.  Our  goal  is,  however,  now  almost  in  sight,  and  we 
must  not  tarry.  We  will  but  record  one  thought,  as  we  say 
that  they  who  were  accustomed  to  associate  the  idea  of  fine 
sympathies  with  fine  clothes  and  elegance  of  manner,  would 
have  been  astonished  at  the  instinctive  delicacy  and  good 
breeding  of  that  dense  mass  of  men.  Many  were  disap- 
pointed at  the  abrupt  conclusion  of  a  great  enjoyment,  nearly 
all  were  moved  by  intense  curiosity  to  know  the  history  of 
those  so  strangely  brought  together  again,  and  yet  not  one 
murmured  a  complaint,  not  one  obtruded  a  question ;  but 
with  a  few  words  of  kindly  greeting,  a  good  wish,  or  a 
blessing,  they  stole  quietly  away  and  left  the  spot. 

Seated  side  by  side  in  a  room  of  the  inn,  old  Layton  and 
his  son  remained  till  nigh  daybreak.  How  much  had  they 
to  ask  and  answer  of  each  other !  Amidst  the  flood  of  ques- 
tions poured  forth,  anything  like  narrative  made  but  sorry 
progress  ;  but  at  length  Alfred  came  to  hear  how  his  father 
had  been  duped  by  a  pretended  friend,  cheated  out  of  his 
discovery,  robbed  of  his  hard-won  success,  and  then  de- 
nounced as  an  impostor. 

"This  made  me  violent,  and  then  they  called  me  mad. 
A  little  more  of  such  persecution  and  their  words  might  have 
come  true. 

"  I  scarcely  yet  know  to  what  I  am  indebted  for  my  liber- 
ation. I  was  a  patient  in  Swift's  Hospital,  when  one  day 
came  the  Viceroy  to  visit  it,  and  with  him  came  a  man  I  had 
met  before  in  society,  but  not  over  amicably,  nor  with  such 


432  ONE   OF  THEM. 

memories  as  could  gratify.  '  Who  is  tliis?'  cried  he,  as  he 
saw  me  at  work  in  the  garden.  '  I  think  I  remember  his 
face.'  The  keeper  whispered  something,  and  he  repHed, 
'  Ah !  indeed ! '  while  he  drew  near  where  I  was  digging. 
*  What  do  you  grow  here?'  asked  he  of  me,  in  a  half-care- 
less tone.  '  Madder,'  shouted  I,  with  a  yell  that  made  him 
start;  and  then,  recovering  himself,  he  hastened  off  to 
report  the  answer  to  the  Viceroy. 

"They  both  came  soon  after  to  where  I  was.  The  Vice- 
roy, with  that  incaution  which  makes  some  people  talk  before 
the  insane  as  though  they  were  deaf,  said,  in  my  hearing, 
'  And  so  you  tell  me  he  was  once  a  Fellow  of  Trinity  ? '  '  Yes, 
my  Lord,'  said  I,  assuming  the  reply,  '  a  Regius  Professor 
and  a  Medallist,  now  a  Madman  and  a  Pauper.  The  con- 
verse is  the  gentleman  at  your  side.  He  began  as  a  fool, 
and  has  ended  as  a  Poor  Law  Commissioner ! '  They  both 
turned  away,  but  I  cried  out,  '  Mr.  Ogden,  one  word  with 
you  before  you  go.'  He  came  back.  '  I  have  been  placed 
here,'  said  I,  '  at  the  instance  of  a  man  who  has  robbed  me. 
I  am  not  mad,  but  I  am  friendless.  The  name  of  my  per- 
secutor is  Holmes.  He  writes  himself  Captain  Nicholas 
Holmes  — ' 

"  He  would  not  hear  another  word,  but  hurried  away 
without  answering  me.  I  know  no  more  than  that  I  was 
released  ten  days  after,  —  that  I  was  turned  out  in  the  streets 
to  starve  or  rob.  My  first  thought  was  to  find  out  this  man 
Holmes.  To  meet  and  charge  him  with  his  conduct  towards 
me,  in  some  public  place,  would  have  been  a  high  vengeance ; 
but  I  sought  him  for  weeks  in  vain,  and  at  last  learned  he 
had  gone  abroad. 

"  How  I  lived  all  that  time  I  cannot  tell  you ;  it  is  all  to 
me  now  like  a  long  and  terrible  dream.  I  was  constantly'  in 
the  hands  of  the  police,  and  rarely  a  day  passed  that  I  had 
not  some  angry  altercation  with  the  authorities.  I  was  in 
one  of  these  one  morning,  when,  half  stupefied  with  cold  and 
want,  I  refused  to  answer  further.  The  magistrate  asked, 
'Has  he  any  friends?  Is  there  no  one  who  takes  any  in- 
terest in  him?'  The  constable  answered,  'None,  your  wor- 
ship ;  and  it  is  all  the  better,  he  would  only  heap  disgrace  on 
them ! ' 


-    OF  BYGONES.  433 

"It  was  then,  for  the  first  moment  of  my  life,  the  full 
measure  of  all  I  had  become  stood  plaiuly  before  me.  lu 
those  few  words  lay  the  sentence  passed  upon  my  character. 
From  that  hour  forth  I  determined  never  to  utter  my  name 
again.  I  kept  this  pledge  faithfully,  nor  was  it  ditHcult; 
few  questioned,  none  cared  for  me.  I  lived  —  if  that  be  the 
word  for  it  —  in  various  ways.  I  compounded  drugs  for 
chemists,  corrected  the  press  for  printers,  hawked  tracts, 
made  auction  catalogues,  and  at  last  turned  pyrotechnist  to 
a  kind  of  Vauxhall,  all  the  while  writing  letters  home  with 
small  remittances  to  your  mother,  who  had  died  when  I  was 
in  the  madhouse.  In  a  brief  interval  of  leisure  I  went  down 
to  the  North,  to  learn  what  I  might  of  her  last  moments,  and 
to  see  where  they  had  laid  her.  There  was  a  clergyman 
there  who  had  been  kind  and  hospitable  towards  me  in  better 
days,  and  it  was  to  his  house  I  repaired." 

He  paused,  and  for  some  minutes  was  silent.  At  length 
he  said,  — 

"  It  is  strange,  but  there  are  certain  passages  in  my  life, 
not  very  remarkable  in  themselves,  that  remain  distinct  and 
marked  out,  just  as  one  sees  certain  portions  of  landscape  by 
the  glare  of  lightning  flashes  in  a  thunderstorm,  and  never 
forgets  them  after.  Such  was  my  meeting  with  this  Mr. 
Millar.  He  was  distributing  bread  to  the  poor,  with  the  assist- 
ance of  his  clerk,  on  the  morning  that  I  came  to  his  door. 
The  act,  charitable  and  good  in  itself,  he  endeavored  to 
render  more  profitable  by  some  timely  words  of  caution  and 
advice  ;  he  counselled  gratitude  towards  those  who  bestowed 
these  bounties,  and  thrift  in  their  use.  Like  all  men  who 
have  never  known  want  themselves,  he  denied  that  it  ever 
came  save  through  improvidence.  He  seemed  to  like  the 
theme,  and  dwelt  on  it  with  pleasure,  the  more  as  the  poor 
sycophants  who  received  his  alms  eagerly  echoed  back  con- 
currence in  all  that  he  spoke  disparagingly  of  themselves.  I 
waited  eagerly  till  he  came  to  a  pause,  and  then  I  spoke. 

"  '  Now,'  said  I,  '  let  us  reverse  this  medal,  and  read  it  on 
the  other  side.  Though  as  poor  and  wretched  as  any  of 
those  about,  I  have  not  partaken  of  your  bounty,  and  I  have 
the  right  to  tell  you  that  your  words  are  untrue,  your  teach- 
ing unsound,  and  your  theory  a  falsehood.  To  men  like  us, 
28 


434  ONE  OF  THEM. 

houseless,  homeless,  and  friendless,  you  may  as  well  preach 
good  breeding  and  decorous  manners,  as  talk  of  providence 
and  thrift.  Want  is  a  disease ;  it  attacks  the  poor,  whose 
constitutions  are  exposed  to  it ;  and  to  lecture  us  against  its 
inroads  is  like  cautioning  us  against  cold,  by  saying  "  Take 
care  to  wear  strong  boots,  —  mind  that  you  take  your  great- 
coat, —  be  sure  that  you  do  not  expose  yourself  to  the  night 
air."  You  would  be  shocked,  would  you  not,  to  address  such 
sarcastic  counsels  to  such  poor,  barefoot,  ragged  creatures 
as  we  are?  And  yet  you  are  not  shocked  by  enjoining  things 
fifty  times  more  absurd,  five  hundred  times  more  difficult. 
Thrift  is  the  inhabitant  of  warm  homesteads,  where  the 
abundant  meal  is  spread  upon  the  board  and  the  fire  blazes 
on  the  hearth.  It  never  lives  in  the  hovel,  where  the  snow- 
drift lodges  in  the  chimney  and  the  rain  beats  upon  the  bed 
of  straw ! ' 

"  '  Who  is  this  fellow? '  cried  the  Rector,  outraged  at  being 
thus  replied  to.    '  Where  did  he  come  from  ? ' 

"  '  From  a  life  of  struggle  and  hardship,'  said  I,  '  that  if 
you  had  been  exposed  to  and  confronted  with,  you  had 
died  of  starvation,  despite  all  your  wise  saws  on  thrift  and 
providence.' 

"'Gracious  mercy!'  muttered  he,  'can  this  be  — '  and 
then  he  stopped ;  and  beckoning  me  to  follow  him  into  an 
inner  room,  he  retired. 

"  '  Do  I  speak  to  Dr.  Layton? '  asked  he,  curtly,  when  we 
were   alone. 

"  '  I  was  that  man,'  said  I.     '  I  am  nothing  now.' 

"  '  By  what  unhappy  causes  have  you  come  to  this?  ' 

"  '  The  lack  of  that  same  thrift  you  were  so  eloquent 
about,  perhaps.  I  was  one  of  those  who  could  write,  speak, 
invent,  and  discover ;  but  I  was  never  admitted  a  brother 
of  the  guild  of  those  who  save.  The  world,  however,  has 
always  its  compensations,  and  I  met  thrifty  men.  Some 
of  them  stole  my  writings,  and  some  filched  my  discover- 
ies. They  have  prospered,  and  live  to  illustrate  your  pleas- 
ant theoi-y.  But  I  have  not  come  here  to  make  my  confes- 
sions ;  I  would  learn  of  you  certain  things  about  what  was 
once  my  home.' 

"  He  was  most  kind,  —  he  would  have  been  more  than  kind 


-  OF  BYGONES.  435 

to  Die  had  I  let  him  ;  but  I  would  accept  of  nothing.  I  did 
not  even  break  bread  under  his  roof,  though  I  had  fasted  for 
a  day  and  a  half.  He  had  a  few  objects  left  with  him  to 
give  me,  which  I  took,  —  the  old  pocket-book  one  of  them,  — 
and  then  I  went  away." 

The  old  man's  narrative  was  henceforth  one  long  series  of 
struggles  with  fortune.  He  concealed  none  of  those  faults 
by  which  he  had  so  often  wrecked  his  better  life.  Hating 
and  despising  the  companionship  to  which  his  reduced  con- 
dition had  brought  him,  he  professed  to  believe  there  was 
less  degradation  in  drunkenness  than  in  such  association. 
Through  all  he  said,  in  fact,  there  was  the  old  defiant 
spirit  of  early  days,  a  scornful  rejection  of  all  assistance, 
and  even,  in  failure  and  misery,  a  self-reliance  that  seemed 
invincible.  He  had  come  to  America  by  the  invitation  of  a 
theatrical  manager,  who  had  failed,  leaving  him  in  the  direst 
necessity  and  want. 

The  dawn  of  day  found  him  still  telling  of  his  wayward 
life,  its  soi-rows,  its  struggles,  and  defeats. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE   doctor's    narrative. 

Old  Layton  never  questioned  his  son  whither  they  were 
going,  or  for  what,  till  the  third  day  of  their  journeying 
together.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  preoccupation  of  his  mind, 
that  he  travelled  along  unmindful  of  new  places  and  new 
people,  all  his  thoughts  deeply  engaged  by  one  single  theme. 
Brief  as  this  interval  was,  what  a  change  had  it  worked  in 
his  appearance !  Instead  of  the  wild  and  haggard  look  his 
features  used  to  wear,  their  expression  was  calm,  somewhat 
stern,  perhaps,  and  such  as  might  have  reminded  one  who  had 
seen  him  in  youth  of  the  Herbert  Layton  of  his  college  days. 
He  had  grown  more  silent,  too,  and  there  was  in  his  manner 
the  same  trait  of  haughty  reserve  which  once  distinguished 
him.  His  habits  of  intemperance  were  abandoned  at  once, 
and  without  the  slightest  reference  to  motive  or  intention  he 
gave  his  son  to  see  that  he  had  entered  on  a  new  course  in 
life. 

"  Have  you  told  me  where  we  are  going,  Alfred,  and  have 
I  forgotten  it?  "  said  he,  on  the  third  day  of  the  journey. 

"  No,  father ;  so  many  other  things  occurred  to  us  to  talk 
over  that  I  never  thought  of  this.  It  is  time,  however,  I 
should  tell  you.  We  are  going  to  meet  one  who  would  rather 
make  your  acquaintance  than  be  the  guest  of  a  king." 

The  old  man  smiled  with  a  sort  of  cold  incredulity,  and 
his  son  went  on  to  recount  how,  in  collecting  the  stray 
papers  and  journals  of  the  "Doctor,''  as  they  styled  him 
between  them,  this  stranger  had  come  to  conceive  the 
greatest  admiration  for  his  bold  energy  of  temperament 
and  the  superior  range  of  his  intellect.  The  egotism,  so  long 
dormant  in  that  degraded  nature,   revived  and  warmed  up 


THE   DOCTOR'S   NARRATIVE.  437 

as  the  youth  spoke,  and  he  listened  with  proud  delight  at 
the  story  of  all  the  Amerieau's  devotion  to  him. 

"He  is  a  man  of  science,  then,  Alfred?" 

"Nothing  of  the  kind." 

''He  is,  at  least,  one  of  those  quick-minded  fellows  who 
in  this  stirring  country  adapt  to  their  purpose  discoveries 
they  have  had  no  share  iu  making;  is  he  not?" 

"Scarcely  even  that.  He  is  a  man  of  ordinary  faculties, 
many  prejudices,  but  of  a  manly  honesty  of  heart  1  have 
never  seen  surpassed." 

"Then  he  is  poor,"  said  the  old  man,  sarcastically. 

"I  know  little  of  his  circumstances,  but  I  believe  they 
are  ample." 

"Take  my  word  for  it,  boy,  they  are  not,"  said  the  other, 
wnth  a  bitter  smile.  "Fortune  is  a  thrifty  goddess,  and 
where  she  bestows  a  generous  nature  she  takes  care  it  shall 
have  nothing  to  give  away." 

"I  trust  your  precept  will  not  apply  to  this  case,  at  all 
events.  I  have  been  his  pensioner  for  nigh  a  year  back: 
I  am  so  still.  I  had  hoped,  indeed,  by  this  project  of 
lecturing  —  " 

"Nay,  nay,  boy,  no  success  could  come  of  that.  Had 
you  been  a  great  name  in  your  own  country,  and  come  here 
heralded  by  honors  won  already,  they  would  have  given 
you  a  fair  hearing  and  a  generous  recompense,  but  they  will 
not  take  as  money  the  unstamped  metal ;  they  will  not 
stoop  to  accept  what  the  old  country  sends  forth  without 
acknowledgment,  as  good  enough  for  them.  Believe  me, 
this  race  is  prouder  than  our  own,  and  it  is  not  by  unworthy 
sneers  at  them  that  we  shall  make  them  less  vainglorious." 

"I  scarcely  know  them,  but  for  the  sake  of  that  one  man 
I  owe  them  a  deep  affection,"  said  Alfred,  warmly. 

"I  have  a  scheme  for  you,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a 
pause;  "but  we  will  talk  of  it  later  on.  For  the  present, 
I  want  you  to  aid  me  in  a  plan  of  my  own.  Ever  since  I 
have  been  in  this  country  I  have  endeavored  to  find  out  a 
person  whose  name  alone  was  known  to  me,  and  with  whom 
I  gave  a  solemn  promise  to  communicate, — a  death-bed 
promise  it  was,  and  given  under  no  common  circumstances. 
The  facts  were  these :  — 


438  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"I  was  once  upon  a  time,  when  practising  as  a  physician 
at  Jersey,  sent  for  to  attend  a  patient  taken  suddenly  and 
dangerously  ill.  The  case  was  a  most  embarrassing  one. 
There  were  symptoms  so  incongruous  as  to  reject  the  notion 
of  any  ordinary  disease,  and  such  as  might  well  suggest  the 
suspicion  of  poisoning,  and  yet  so  skilfully  and  even  pa- 
tiently had  the  scheme  been  matured,  the  detection  of  the 
poison  during  life  was  very  difficult.  My  eagerness  in  the 
inquiry  was  mistaken  by  the  patient  for  a  feeling  of  per- 
sonal kindness  towards  himself,  —  an  error  very  familiar  to 
all  medical  men  in  practice.  He  saw  in  my  unremitting 
attention  and  hourly  watching  by  his  bedside  the  devotion 
of  one  like  an  old  friend,  and  not  the  scientific  ardor  of  a 
student. 

"It  is  just  possible  that  his  gratitude  was  the  greater, 
that  the  man  was  one  little  likely  to  conciliate  good  feel- 
ing or  draw  any  sympathy  towards  him.  He  was  a  hard, 
cold,  selfish  fellow,  whose  life  had  been  passed  amongst  the 
worst  classes  of  play-men,  and  who  rejected  utterly  all 
thought  of  truth  or  confidence  in  his  old  associates.  I  men- 
tion this  to  show  how,  in  a  very  few  days,  the  accident  of 
my  situation  established  between  us  a  freedom  and  a  frank- 
ness that  savored  of  long  acquaintance. 

"  In  his  conversations  with  me  he  confessed  that  his  wife 
had  been  divorced  from  a  former  husband,  and,  from 
circumstances  known  to  him,  he  believed  she  desired  his 
death.  He  told  me  of  the  men  to  whom  in  particular  his 
suspicions  attached,  and  the  reasons  of  the  suspicions ;  that 
these  men  would  be  irretrievably  ruined  if  his  speculations 
on  the  turf  were  to  succeed,  and  that  there  was  not  one  of 
them  would  not  peril  his  life  to  get  sight  of  his  book  on  the 
coming  Derby.  I  was  curious  to  ascertain  why  he  should 
have  surrounded  himself  with  men  so  obviously  his  enemies, 
and  he  owned  it  was  an  act  prompted  by  a  sort  of  dogged 
courage,  to  show  them  that  he  did  not  fear  them.  Nor  was 
this  the  only  motive,  as  he  let  out  by  an  inadvertence;  he 
cherished  the  hope  of  detecting  an  intrigue  between  one  of 
his  guests  and  his  wife,  as  the  means  of  liberating  himself 
from  a  tie  long  distasteful  to  him. 

"One  of  the  party  had  associated  himself  with  him  in  this 


THE   DOCTOR'S  NARRATIVE.  439 

project,  and  promised  him  all  his  assistance.  Here  was  a 
web  of  guilt  and  treachery,  entangled  enough  to  engage  a 
deep  interest !  For  the  man  himself,  I  cared  nothing ;  there 
was  in  his  nature  that  element  of  low  selfishness  that  is  fatal 
to  all  sense  of  sympathy.  His  thoughts  and  speculations 
ranged  only  over  suspicions  and  distrusts,  and  the  only 
hopes  he  ever  expressed  were  for  the  punishment  of  his 
enemies.  Scarcely,  indeed,  did  a  visit  pass  in  which  he  did 
not  compel  me  to  repeat  a  solemn  oath  that  the  mode  of  his 
death  should  be  explored,  and  his  poisoners  —  if  there  were 
such  —  be  brought  to  trial.  As  he  drew  nigh  his  last,  his 
sufferings  gave  little  intervals  of  rest,  and  his  mind  occa- 
sionally wandered.  Even  in  his  ravings,  however,  revenge 
never  left  him,  and  he  would  break  out  into  wild  rhapsodies 
in  imitation  of  the  details  of  justice,  calling  on  the  pris- 
oners, and  by  name,  to  say  whether  they  would  plead  guilty 
or  not;  asking  them  to  stand  forward,  and  then  reciting 
with  hurried  impetuosity  the  terms  of  an  indictment  for  mur- 
der. To  these  there  would  succeed  a  brief  space  of  calm 
reason,  in  which  he  told  me  that  his  daughter  —  a  child  by 
a  former  wife  —  was  amply  provided  for,  and  that  her  for- 
tune was  so  far  out  of  the  reach  of  his  enemies  that  it  lay  in 
America,  where  her  uncle,  her  guardian,  resided.  He  gave 
me  his  name  and  address,  and  in  my  pocket-book  —  this 
old  and  much-used  pocket-book  that  you  see  —  he  wrote  a 
few  tremulous  lines,  accrediting  me  to  this  gentleman  as  the 
one  sole  friend  beside  him  in  his  last  struggles.  As  he 
closed  the  book,  he  said,  '  As  you  hope  to  die  in  peace, 
swear  to  me  not  to  neglect  this,  nor  leave  my  poor  child  a 
beggar.'     And  I  swore  it. 

"His  death  took  place  that  night;  the  inquest  followed 
on  the  day  after.  My  suspicions  were  correct;  he  had 
died  of  corrosive  sublimate;  the  quantity  would  have  killed 
a  dozen  men.  There  was  a  trial  and  a  conviction.  One  of 
them,  I  know,  was  executed,  and,  if  I  remember  aright, 
sentence  of  transportation  passed  on  another.  The  woman, 
however,  was  not  implicated,  and  her  reputed  lover  escaped. 
My  evidence  was  so  conclusive  and  so  fatal  that  the  pris- 
oners' counsel  had  no  other  resource  than  to  damage  my 
credit  by  assailing  my  character,  and  in  his  cross-examinn- 


440  ONE  OF  THEM. 

tion  of  me  he  drew  forth  such  details  of  my  former  life,  and 
the  vicissitudes  of  my  existence,  that  I  left  the  witness-table 
a  ruined  man.  It  was  not  a  very  difficult  task  to  represent 
a  life  of  poverty  as  one  of  ignominy  and  shame.  The  next 
day  my  acquaintances  passed  without  recognizing  me,  and 
from  that  hour  forth  none  ever  consulted  me.  In  my  indig- 
nation at  this  injustice  I  connected  all  who  could  have  in 
any  way  contributed  to  my  misfortune,  and  this  poor  orphan 
child  amongst  the  rest.  Had  I  never  been  engaged  in  that 
ill-starred  case,  my  prospects  in  life  had  been  reasonably 
fair  and  hopeful.  I  was  in  sufficient  practice,  increasing 
in  repute,  and  likely  to  succeed,  when  this  calamitous  affair 
crossed  me. 

"Patience  under  unmerited  suffering  was  never  amongst 
my  virtues,  and  in  various  ways  I  assailed  those  who  had 
attacked  me.  I  ridiculed  the  lawyer  who  had  conducted  the 
defence,  sneered  at  his  law,  exposed  his  ignorance  of  chem- 
istry, and,  carried  away  by  that  fatal  ardor  of  acrimony  I 
never  knew  how  to  restrain,  I  more  than  suggested  that, 
when  he  appealed  to  Heaven  in  the  assertion  of  his  client's 
innocence,  he  held  in  his  possession  a  written  confession  of 
his  guilt.  For  this  an  action  of  libel  was  brought  against 
me;  the  damages  were  assessed  at  five  hundred  pounds,  and 
I  spent  four  years  in  a  jail  to  acquit  the  debt.  Judge,  then, 
with  what  memories  I  ever  referred  to  that  event  of  my  life. 
It  was,  perhaps,  the  one  solitary  incident  in  which  I  had 
resisted  a  strong  temptation.  I  was  offered  a  large  bribe 
to  fail  in  my  analysis,  and  yet  it  cost  me  all  the  prosperity 
it  had  taken  years  of  labor  to  accomplish! 

"Imprisonment  had  not  cooled  my  passion.  The  first 
thing  which  I  did  when  free  was  to  dramatize  the  trial  for 
one  of  those  low  pot-houses  where  Judge  and  Jury  scenes 
are  represented;  and  so  accurately  did  I  caricature  my 
enemy,  the  counsel,  that  he  was  actually  laughed  out  of 
court  and  ruined.  If  I  could  have  traced  the  other  actors  in 
the  tei-rible  incident,  I  would  have  pursued  them  with  like 
rancor;  but  I  could  not:  they  had  left  England,  and  gone 
Heaven  knows  where  or  how!  As  to  the  orphan  girl,  whose 
interest  I  had  sworn  to  watch  over,  any  care  for  her  now 
would  only  have  insulted  my  own   misery;    my   rage  was 


THE  DOCTOR'S  NARRATIVE.  441 

blind  and  undiscriminating,  and  I  would  not  be  guided  by 
reason.  It  was,  therefore,  in  a  spirit  of  unretlecting  ven- 
geance that  I  never  took  any  steps  regarding  her,  but  pre- 
served, even  to  this  hour,  a  letter  to  her  guardian,  —  it  is 
there,  in  that  pocket-book,  —  which  might  perhaps  have 
vindicated  her  right  to  wealth  and  fortune.  '  No,'  thought 
I,  '  they  have  been  my  ruin ;  I  will  not  be  the  benefactor  of 
one  of  them ! ' 

"I  kept  my  word;  and  even  when  my  own  personal  dis- 
tresses were  greatest,  I  would  not  have  raised  myself  out  of 
want  at  the  price  of  relinquishing  that  revenge.  I  have 
lived  to  think  and  feel  more  wisely,"  said  he,  after  a  pause; 
"I  have  lived  to  learn  the  great  lesson  that  every  mishap  of 
my  life  was  of  my  own  procuring,  and  that  self-indulgence 
and  a  vindictive  spirit  are  enough  to  counterbalance  tenfold 
more  than  all  the  abilities  I  ever  possessed.  The  world 
will  no  more  confide  its  interests  to  men  like  me  than  they 
will  take  a  tiger  for  a  house-dog.  I  want  to  make  some 
reparation  for  this  wrong,  Alfred.  I  want  to  seek  out  this 
person  I  have  spoken  of,  and,  if  this  gijl  still  live,  to  place 
her  in  possession  of  her  own.  You  will  help  me  in  this, 
will  you  not?  " 

It  was  not  without  a  burning  impatience  that  young 
Layton  had  listened  to  his  father's  narrative;  he  was  eager 
to  tell  him  that  his  friend  the  Colonel  had  already  addressed 
himself  to  the  enterprise,  all  his  interests  being  engaged  by 
the  journals  and  letters  he  had  collected  when  in  Ireland. 
Alfred  now,  in  a  few  hurried  words,  related  all  this,  and 
told  how,  at  that  very  hour.  Quack inboss  was  eagerly  prose- 
cuting the  inquiry.  "He  has  gone  down  to  Norfolk  iu 
search  of  this  Winthrop,"  said  he. 

"He  will  not  find  him  there,"  said  old  Layton.  "He  left 
Norfolk,  for  the  Far  West,  two  years  back.  He  settled  at 
Chicago,  but  he  has  not  remained  there.  So  much  I  have 
learned,  and  it  is  all  that  is  known  about  him." 

"Let  us  go  to  Chicago,  then,"  said  Alfred. 

"It  is  what  I  would  advise.  He  is  a  man  of  sutlicient 
note  and  mark  to  be  easily  traced.  It  is  a  well-known  name, 
and  belongs  to  a  family  much  looked  up  to.  These  are  my 
credentials,  if  I  should  ever  chance  to  come  up  with  him." 


442  ONE  OF  THEM. 

As  he  spoke,  he  unclasped  a  very  old  and  much-worn  leather 
pocket-book,  searching  through  whose  pages  he  at  last 
found  what  he  sought  for.  It  was  a  leaf,  scrawled  over  in 
a  trembling  manner,  and  ran  thus:  "Consult  the  bearer  of 
this.  Dr.  Layton,  about  Clara ;  he  is  my  only  friend  at  this 
dreadful  hour,  and  he  is  to  be  trusted  in  all  things.  Watch 
well  that  they  who  have  murdered  me  do  not  rob  her.  He 
will  tell  you  —  "  It  concluded  thus  abruptly,  but  was  signed 
firmly,  "Godfrey  Hawke,  Nest,  Jersey,"  with  the  date;  and 
underneath,  "To  Harvey  Winthrop,  Norfolk,  U.  S." 

"This  would  be  a  meagre  letter  of  credit,  Alfred,  to  most 
men;  but  I  have  heard  much  of  this  same  Winthrop.  All 
represent  him  as  a  fine-hearted,  generous  fellow,  who  has 
done  already  much  to  trace  out  his  niece,  and  restore  to 
her  what  she  owns.  If  we  succeed  in  discovering  him,  I 
mean  to  offer  my  services  to  search  out  the  girl.  I  saw, 
a  short  time  before  I  left  England,  one  of  the  men  who  were 
implicated  in  the  murder.  I  knew  him  at  once.  The  threat 
of  reviving  the  old  story  of  shame  will  soon  place  him  in  my 
power,  if  I  can  but  find  him;  and  through  him  I  am  confi- 
dent we  shall  trace  her.'" 

To  understand  the  ardor  with  which  the  old  man  entered 
upon  this  inquiry,  one  must  have  known  the  natures  of  those 
men  to  whom  the  interest  of  such  a  search  has  all  the  capti- 
vation  of  a  game.  It  was,  to  his  thinking,  like  some  case 
of  subtle  analysis,  in  which  the  existence  of  a  certain  ingre- 
dient was  to  be  tested ;  it  was  a  problem  requiring  all  his 
acuteness  to  solve,  and  he  addressed  himself  to  the  task  with 
energy  and  zeal.  The  young  man  was  not  slow  to  associate 
himself  in  the  enterpi'ise;  and  in  his  desire  for  success  there 
mingled  generous  thoughts  and  more  kindly  sympathies, 
which  assuredly  did  not  detract  from  the  interest  of  the 
pursuit. 

The  theme  engrossed  all  their  thoughts ;  they  discussed  it 
in  every  fashion,  speculated  on  it  in  every  shape,  pictured 
to  themselves  almost  every  incident  and  every  stage  of  the 
inquiry,  imagining  the  various  obstacles  that  might  arise, 
and  planning  how  to  overcome  them.  Thus  journeying  they 
arrived  at  Chicago,  but  only  to  learn  that  Winthrop  had  left 
that  city,  and  was  now  established  farther  to  the  westward, 


THE  DOCTOR'S  NARRATIVE.  443 

at  a  place  called  Gallina.  Without  halting  or  delay  they 
started  for  Gallina,  The  road  was  a  new  and  a  bad  one, 
the  horses  indifferent,  and  the  stages  unusually  long.  It  was 
on  the  fourth  evening  of  the  journey  that  they  arrived  at  a 
small  log-house  on  the  skirt  of  a  pine  wood,  at  which  they 
were  given  to  expect  fresh  horses.  They  were  disappointed, 
however,  for  the  horses  had  already  been  sent  to  bring  up 
two  travellers  from  Gallina,  and  who  had  taken  the  precau- 
tion of  securing  a  rapid  transit. 

"We  are  here,  then,  for  the  night,"  said  old  Layton,  with 
a  faint  sigh,  as  he  endeavored  to  resign  himself  to  the 
delay. 

"  Here  they  come !  "  said  the  host  of  the  log-hut,  as  the 
rattle  of  a  heavy  wagon  was  heard  from  the  dense  wood. 
"Our  sheriff  don't  let  the  moss  grow  under  his  feet.  Listen 
to  the  pace  he  's  coming." 

Seated,  with  his  son  beside  him,  on  the  wooden  bench 
before  the  door,  the  old  man  watched  the  arrival  of  the  new- 
comers. The  first  to  descend  from  the  wagon  was  a  man 
somewhat  advanced  in  life,  but  hale  and  stout,  with  a  well- 
bronzed  face,  and  every  semblance  of  a  vigorous  health. 
He  saluted  the  host  cordially,  and  was  received  with  a  sort 
of  deference  only  accorded  to  men  of  official  station.  He 
was  followed  by  a  younger  man,  but  who  displayed,  as  he 
moved,  evident  signs  of  being  fatigued  by  the  journey. 

"Come,  Seth,"  said  the  elder,  "let  us  see  what  you  have 
got  for  our  supper,  for  we  must  be  a-moving  briskly." 

"Well,  sheriff,  there  ain't  much,"  said  the  host;  "and 
what  there  is  you  '11  have  to  shai'e  with  the  two  gentlemen 
yonder;  they  've  just  come  East,  and  are  waitin'  for  you  to 
get  a  morsel  to  eat." 

"Always  glad  to  chance  on  good  compan}^,"  said  the 
sheriff,  saluting  the  strangers  as  he  spoke;  and  while  they 
were  interchanging  their  greetings,  the  host  laid  the  table, 
and  made  preparation  for  the  meal.  "I  must  look  after 
my  fellow-traveller,"  said  the  sheriff;  "he  seems  so  tired 
nnd  jaded.     T  half  fear  he  will  be  unable  to  go  on  to-night." 

He  speedily  returned  with  good  tidings  of  his  friend,  and 
soon  afterwards  the  party  took  their  places  at  the  supper- 
table. 


444  ONE   OF  THEM. 

The  sheriff,  like  his  countrymen  generally,  was  frank  and 
outspoken ;  he  talked  freely  of  the  new-settled  country,  its 
advantages  and  its  difficulties,  and  at  last,  as  the  night 
closed  in,  he  made  another  visit  to  his  friend. 

"All  right,  Seth,"  said  he,  as  he  came  back;  "we  shall 
be  able  to  push  on.  Let  them  '  hitch '  the  nags  as  soon  as 
may  be,  for  we  've  a  long  journey  before  us." 

"You're  for  the  Lakes,  I  reckon?"  said  Seth,  in- 
quiringly. 

"Farther  than  that." 

"Up  to  Saratoga  and  the  Springs,  maybe?" 

"Farther  still." 

"Well,  you  ain't  a-goin'  to  New  York  at  this  time  of 
year,  sheriff  ?  " 

"  That  am  I,  and  farther  still,  Seth ;  I  am  going  to  the  old 
country,  where  I  have  n't  been  for  more  than  thirty  years, 
and  where  I  never  thought  to  go  again." 

"You  might  visit  worse  lands,  sir,"  said  old  Layton,  half 
resentfully. 

"You  mistook  my  meaning,  stranger,"  said  the  other,  "if 
you  thought  my  words  reflected  on  England.  There  is  only 
one  land  I  love  better." 

The  honest  speech  reconciled  them  at  once,  and  with  a 
hearty  shake-hands  and  a  kindly  wished  good  journey,  they 
separated. 

"  Did  3'ou  remark  that  man  who  accompanied  the  sheriff?  " 
said  Layton  to  his  son,  as  they  stood  at  the  door  watching 
the  wagon  while  it  drove  away. 

"Not  particularly,"  said  Alfred. 

"Well,  I  did  my  best  to  catch  sight  of  him,  but  I  could 
not.  It  struck  me  that  he  was  less  an  invalid  than  one 
who  wanted  to  escape  observation;  he  wore  his  hat 
slouched  over  his  eyes,  and  covered  his  mouth  with  his 
hand  when  he  spoke." 

The  young  man  only  smiled  at  what  he  deemed  a  mere 
caprice  of  suspicion,  and  the  subject  dropped  between  them. 
After  a  while,  however,  the  father  said,  — 

"What  our  host  has  just  told  me  strengthens  my  impres- 
sion. The  supposed  sick  man  ate  a  hearty  supper,  and 
drank  two  glasses  of  stiff  brandy-and-water. '' 


THE  DOCTOR'S  NARRATIVE.  445 

"And  if  he  did,  can  it  concern  us,  father?"  said  Alfred, 
smiling. 

"Yes,  boy,  if  we  were  the  cause  of  the  sudden  indisposi- 
tion. He  was  tired,  perhaps,  when  he  arrived,  but  I  saw 
no  signs  of  more  than  fatigue  in  his  movements,  and  I 
observed  that,  at  the  first  glance  towards  us,  he  hurried  into 
the  inner  room  and  never  reappeared  till  he  left.  I  'm  not 
by  any  means  certain  that  the  fellow  had  not  his  reasons 
for  avoiding  us." 

Rather  treating  this  as  the  fancy  of  one  whose  mind  had 
been  long  the  prey  of  harassing  distrusts  than  as  founded 
on  calmer  reason,  Alfred  made  no  answer,  and  they  sepa- 
rated for  the  night  without  recurring  to  the  subject. 

It  was  late  on  the  following  day  they  reached  Gallina. 
The  first  question  was,  if  Harvey  Winthrop  lived  there? 
"Yes;  he  is  our  sheriff,"  was  the  answer.  They  both 
started,  and  exchanged  looks  of  strange  meaning. 

"And  he  left  this  yesterday?  "  asked  old  Layton. 

"Yes,  sir.  An  Englishman  came  two  days  back  with 
some  startling  news  for  him,  —  some  say  of  a  great  fortune 
left  him  somewhere,  — and  he  's  off  to  England  to  make  out 
his  claim." 

Old  Layton  and  his  son  stood  speechless  and  discon- 
certed. These  were  the  two  travellers  who  had  passed  them 
at  the  log-hut,  and  thus  had  they  spent  some  hours,  without 
knowing  it,  in  the  company  of  him  they  had  been  travelling 
hundreds  of  miles  to  discover. 

"And  his  friend  knew  us,  and  avoided  us,  Alfred,"  said 
old  Layton.  "Mark  that  fact,  boy,  and  observe  that, 
where  there  is  ground  for  fear  in  one  heart,  there  is  reason 
for  hope  in  some  other.     We  must  follow  them  at  once." 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

A    HAPPY    ACCIDENT. 

Having  written  a  hurried  letter  to  Quaekinboss  acquainting 
him  with  the  causes  which  should  prevent  him  from  keepiug 
his  rendezvous  at  St.  Louis,  and  informing  him  how  he  had 
met  with  his  father,  he  briefly  mentioned  that  they  were 
about  to  return  to  New  York  with  all  speed,  in  the  hope  of 
coming  up  with  Winthrop  before  he  sailed  for  England. 
"Come  what  may,"  he  added,  "we  shall  await  you  there. 
We  long  to  meet  you,  and  add  your  counsels  to  our  own." 
This  letter  he  addressed  to  St.  Louis,  and  posted  at  once. 

It  was  ten  days  after  this  they  reached  New  York.  Their 
journey  had  been  delayed  by  a  series  of  accidents,  —  a  rail- 
road smash  at  Detroit  amongst  the  number;  and, when  they 
arrived  at  the  capital,  it  was  to  learn  that  the  "  Asia"  had 
sailed  that  very  morning  for  Liverpool,  and  at  the  agent's 
office  they  found  that  Mr.  Harvey  Winthrop  was  a  passenger, 
and  with  him  a  certain  Mr.  Jacob  Trover. 

"Trover!"  repeated  Alfred,  "he  came  out  in  the  same 
ship  with  us,  and  it  was  in  his  company  Quaekinboss  went 
down  to  the  South,  fully  convinced  that  the  man  was  the 
agent  in  some  secret  transaction." 

As  he  stood  looking  at  the  name  on  the  agent's  list  with 
that  unreasoning  steadfastness  that  in  a  difficulty  often 
attaches  us  to  the  incident  which  has  first  awakened  us  to  a 
sense  of  embarrassment,  he  heard  a  well-remembered  voice 
behind  him  exclaim,  "What!  sailed  this  mornin' ?  Well, 
darn  me  considerable,  if  that  ain't  takin'  the  ropes  of  us !  " 
He  turned,  and  it  was  Quaekinboss.  After  the  heartiest  of 
greetings  on  both  sides,  Alfred  presented  his  father  to  his 
friend. 


A -HAPPY   ACCIDENT.  447 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  impressively,  "  there  ain't 
that  man  livin'  I  want  to  shake  the  hand  of  as  I  do  yours. 
I  know  you,  sir,  better,  mayhap,  thau  that  youth  beside  you. 
I  have  studied  your  character  in  your  writin's,  and  I  'm  here 
to  say  there  ain't  your  superior,  if  there  be  your  equal,  in 
your  country  or  mine." 

"  This  opinion  will  make  our  intimacy  very  difficult,"  said 
the  old  man,  smiling.  "I  can  scarcely  hope  to  keep  up  the 
delusion,  even  for  twenty-four  hours." 

"Yes,  sir,  you  can,"  replied  the  Colonel;  "jest  talk  the 
way  you  write." 

"You  have  seen  this,  I  suppose?"  said  Alfred,  pointing 
to  the  list  of  the  lately  departed  passengers,  and  desirous  of 
engaging  his  friend  in  another  theme. 

"  Yes,  and  gone  with  Winthrop  too,"  said  the  Colonel. 
"You  wouldn't  believe  how  he  doubled  on  me,  that  man 
Trover.  I  thought  I  had  him  too.  We  were  a-travellin' 
together  as  thick  as  thieves,  a-tellin'  each  other  all  our  by- 
gones in  life  and  our  plans  for  the  future,  and  at  last  as 
good  as  agreed  we  'd  go  partners  in  a  mill  that  was  for  sale, 
about  three  miles  from  Carthage.  But  he  wanted  to  see  the 
water-power  himself,  and  so  we  left  the  high-road,  and  set 
out  to  visit  it.  At  our  arrival,  as  we  was  gettin'  out  of  the 
wagon,  he  sprained  his  ankle,  and  had  to  be  helped  into 
the  house. 

"  '  I  am  afraid,'  said  he,  'there's  more  mischief  than  a 
sprain  here ;  have  you  any  skill  as  a  surgeon  ?  ' 

"  '  Well,'  said  I,  '  I  ain't  so  bad  about  a  fracture  or  dislo- 
cashin,  and,  what 's  better,  I  've  got  a  note-book  with  me  full 
of  all  manner  of  receipts  for  washes  and  the  like.'  It  was 
your  journal.  Dr.  Layton,  that  I  spoke  of.  It  was,  as  you 
may  remember,  filled  with  hints  about  useful  herbs  and  odd 
roots,  and  so  on,  and  there  was  all  about  that  case  of  a  man 
called  Ilawke  as  was  poisoned  at  Jersey,  —  a  wonderful  trial 
that  had  a  great  hold  upon  me,  as  your  son  will  tell  you 
another  time,  —  but  I  did  n't  think  of  that  at  the  moment ; 
but  turnin'  to  the  part  about  sprains,  I  began  to  read  him 
what  you  said  :  '  "  You  must  generally  leech  at  first,"  says 
he,'  I  began;  '  "  particularly  where  there  is  great  pain  with 
swellin'."  ' 


448  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  '  Ah  !  I  thought  so,'  sighed  he  ;  '  only  how  are  we  to  get 
leeches  in  a  place  like  this,  and  who  is  to  apply  them? ' 

"  '  I'll  engage  to  do  both  within  half  an  hour,'  said  I ;  and 
I  put  on  my  hat  and  set  out. 

"Now,  I  war  n't  sorry,  you  see,  for  the  accident.  I 
thought  to  myself,  '  Here  's  a  crittur  goin'  to  be  laid  up  ten 
days  or  a  fortnight;  I'll  have  all  the  care  o'  him,  and  it's 
strange  if  he  won't  let  out  some  of  his  secrets  between  whiles. 
I  'm  curious  to  know  what 's  a-brought  him  out  here ;  he  's 
not  travellin'  like  one  afraid  of  being  pursued ;  he  goes 
about  openly  and  fearlessly,  but  he  's  always  on  the  sharp, 
like  a  fellow  that  had  somethin'  on  his  mind,  if  one  could 
only  come  at  it.  If  there 's  anythin'  one  can  be  sure  of,  it 
is  that  a  man  with  a  heavy  conscience  will  try  to  relieve  him- 
self of  the  load ;  he 's  like  a  fellow  always  changin'  the 
ballast  of  his  boat  to  make  her  sail  lighter,  or  a  crittur  that 
will  be  a-movin'  his  saddle,  now  on  the  withers,  now  on  the 
croup,  but  it  won't  do,  never  a  bit,  when  there  's  a  sore  back 
underneath.'  It  was  reflectin'  over  these  things  I  fell  into  a 
sort  of  dreamy  way,  and  did  n't  remember  about  the  leeches 
for  some  time.  At  last  I  got  'em,  and  hastened  back  to  the 
inn. 

"  '  There  's  a  note  for  you,  sir,  at  the  bar,'  said  the  land- 
lord.    I  took  it,  and  read :  — 

"  '  Dear  Colonel,  —  Thinking  a  little  fresh  air  might  serve  me, 
I  have  gone  out  for  a  short  drive.  —  Yours,  till  we  meet  again, 

"'J.  T.' 

"Yes,  sir,  he  was  off;  and  worse,  too,  had  carried  away 
with  him  that  great  book  with  all  the  writin'  in,  and  that 
account  of  Hawke's  poisonin'.  I  started  in  pursuit  as  quick 
as  they  could  get  me  a  wagon  hitched,  but  I  suppose  I  took 
the  wrong  road.  I  went  to  Utica,  and  then  turned  north  as 
far  as  Albany,  but  I  lost  him.  Better,  perhaps,  that  I  did 
so;  I  was  riled  considerable,  and  I  ain't  sure  that  I  might  n't 
have  done  somethin'  to  be  sorry  for.  Ain't  it  wonderful 
how  ill  one  takes  anythin'  that  reflects  on  one's  skill  and 
craftiness  ?  —  just  as  if  such  qualities  were  great  ones ;  I  be- 
lieve, in  my  heart,  we  are  readier  to  resent  what  insults  our 
supposed  cleverness  than  what  is  an  outrage  on  our  honesty. 


A   HAPPY   ACCIDENT.  449 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  never  came  up  with   him  after,  nor 
heard  of  him,  till  I  read  his  name  in  that  sheet." 

"His  theft  of  that  book,  connected  with  his  companion- 
ship with  Winthrop,  suggests  strongly  the  thought  that 
his  business  here  is  the  same  as  our  own,"  said  the  doctor. 

"That 's  the  way  I  reasoned  it  too,"  said  the  Colonel. 

'■  It  is  not  impossible,  besides,  that  he  had  some  suspicion 
of  your  own  object  in  this  journey.  Did  the  name  of  Win- 
throp ever  come  up  in  conversation  between  you  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  was  once  describin'  my  brother's  location  down 
in  Ohio, —  I  did  it  a  purpose  to  see  if  he  would  show  any 
signs  of  interest  about  Peddar's  Clearin's  and  Holt's  Acre, 
—  and  then  I  mentioned,  as  if  by  chance,  one  Harvey 
AVinthrop. 

"  '  Oh,  there  was  a  man  of  that  name  in  Liverpool  once,' 
said  he,  '  but  he  died  about  two  years  gone.' 

"  '  Did  he? '  said  I,  lookin'  him  hard. 

" '  Yes, '  said  he,  — '  of  a  quinsy. ' 

"It  was  as  good  as  a  play  the  way  we  looked  at  each  other 
arter  this.  It  was  jest  a  game  of  chess,  aud  I  said,  '  Move,' 
and  he  said,  '  It  ain't  me  to  move,  — it 's  your  turn.'  And 
there  we  was." 

"The  fellow  was  shrewd,  then?" 

"Yes,  sir,  arter  his  fashion." 

"We  must  follow  him,  that's  certain.  They  will  reach 
Liverpool  by  the  10th  or  12th.  When  can  we  sail  from 
this?" 

"There's  a  packet  sails  on  Wednesday  next;  that's  the 
earliest." 

"That  must  do,  then.  Let  them  be  active  as  they  may, 
they  will  scarcely  have  had  time  for  much  before  we  are 
up  with  them." 

"It's  as  good  as  a  squirrel-hunt,"  said  Quackinboss. 
"I  'm  darned  if  it  don't  set  one's  blood  a-bilin'  out  of  sheer 
excitement.      What  do  you  reckon  this  chap  's  arter?  " 

"He  has,  perhaps,  found  out  this  girl,  and  got  her  to 
make  over  her  claim  to  this  property;  or  she  may  have  died, 
and  he  has  put  forward  some  one  to  personate  her;  or  it  is 
not  improbable  he  may  have  arranged  some  marriage  with 
himself,  or  one  of  his  friends,  for  her." 
29 


450  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"Then  it  ain't  anythin'  about  the  murder?"  asked  the 
Colonel,  half  disappointedly. 

"Nothing  whatever;  that  case  was  disposed  of  years 
ago.  Whatever  guilt  may  attach  to  those  who  escaped,  the 
law  cannot  recognize  now.  They  were  acquitted,  and  they 
are  innocent." 

"That  may  be  good  law,  sir,  but  it 's  strange  justice.  If 
I  owed  you  a  thousand  dollars,  and  was  too  poor  to  pay  it, 
I  'm  thinkin'  you  'd  have  it  out  of  nie  some  fine  day  when  I 
grew  rich  enough  to  discharge  the  debt." 

Layton  shook  his  head  in  dissent  at  the  supposed  parallel. 

"Ain't  we  always  a-talkin'  about  the  fallibility  of  our 
reason  and  the  imperfection  of  our  judgments?  And  what 
business  have  we,  then,  to  say,  '  There,  come  what  will  to- 
morrow of  evidence  or  proof,  my  mind  is  made  up,  and 
I  'm  determined  to  know  nothin'  more  than  I  know  now  '  ?  " 

"What  say  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  question,  — that 
of  the  man  against  whom  nothing  is  proven,  but  who,  out 
of  the  mere  obscurity  that  involves  a  crime,  must  live  and 
die  a  criminal,  just  because  there  is  no  saying  what  morn- 
ing may  not  bring  an  accusation  against  him?  As  a  man 
who  has  had  to  struggle  through  a  whole  life  against  ad- 
verse suspicions,  I  protest  against  the  doctrine  of  not 
proven !  The  world  is  too  prone  to  think  the  worst  to  make 
such  a  practice  anything  short  of  an  insufferable  tyranny." 

With  a  delicacy  he  was  never  deficient  in,  Qiiackinboss 
respected  the  personal  application,  and  made  no  reply. 

"Calumny,  too,"  continued  the  old  man,  whose  passion 
was  now  roused,  "is  conducted  on  the  division-of-labor 
principle.  One  man  contributes  so  much,  and  another  adds 
so  much  more;  some  are  clever  in  suggesting  the  motive, 
some  indicate  the  act;  others  are  satisfied  with  moralizing 
over  human  frailties,  and  display  their  skill  in  showing 
that  the  crime  was  nothing  exceptional,  but  a  mere  illustra- 
tion of  the  law  of  original  sin.  And  all  these  people,  be  it 
borne  in  mind,  are  not  the  bad  or  the  depraved,  but  rather 
persons  of  reputable  lives,  safe  opinions,  and  even  good  in- 
tentions. Only  imagine,  then,  what  the  weapon  becomes 
when  wielded  by  the  really  wicked.  I  myself  was  hunted 
down  by  honorable  men,  — gentlemen  all  of  them,  and  of 


A -HAPPY  ACCIDENT.  451 

great  attainments.  Has  he  told  you  my  story?"  said  he, 
pointing  to  his  son. 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  only  say  that  it  couldn't  have  happened 
in  our  country  here." 

"To  be  sure  it  could,"  retorted  the  other,  quickly;  "the 
only  difference  is,  that  you  have  made  Lynch  law  an  institu- 
tion, and  we  practise  it  as  a  social  accident." 

Thus  chatting,  they  reached  the  hotel  where  they  were  to 
lodge  till  the  packet  sailed. 

The  short  interval  before  their  departure  passed  off  agree- 
ably to  all.  Quackinboss  never  wearied  at  hearing  the 
doctor  talk,  and  led  him  on  to  speak  of  America,  and  what 
he  had  seen  of  the  people,  with  an  intense  interest. 

"Could  you  live  here,  sir?"  asked  Quackinboss,  at  the 
close  of  one  of  these  discussions. 

"It  is  my  intention  to  live  and  die  here,"  said  the  doctor. 
"I  go  back  to  England  now,  that  this  boy  may  pay  off  a 
long  load  of  vengeance  for  me.  Ay,  Alfred,  you  shall  hear 
my  long-cherished  plan  at  once.  ^  I  want  you  to  become  a 
fellow  of  that  same  University  which  drove  me  from  its 
walls.  They  were  not  wrong,  perhaps,  —  at  least,  I  will 
not  now  dispute  their  right,  —  but  I  mean  to  be  more  in  the 
right  than  they  were.  My  name  shall  stand  upon  their 
records  associated  with  their  proudest  achievements,  and 
Layton  the  scholar,  Layton  the  discoverer,  eclipse  the  mem- 
ory of  Layton  the  rebel." 

This  was  the  dream  of  many  a  year  of  struggle,  defeat, 
and  depression;  and  now  that  it  was  avowed,  it  seemed 
as  though  his  heart  were  relieved  of  a  great  load  of  care. 
As  for  Alfred,  the  goal  was  one  to  stimulate  all  his  ener- 
gies, and  he  pledged  himself  fervently  to  do  his  utmost  to 
attain  it. 

"And  I  must  be  with  you  the  day  you  win,"  cried  Quack- 
inboss, with  an  enthusiasm  so  unusual  with  him  that  both 
Layton  and  his  son  turned  their  glances  towards  him,  and 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  glassy  with  tears.  Ashamed  of  his 
emotion,  he  started  suddenly  up,  saying,  "I'll  go  and  book 
our  berths  for  Wednesday  next." 


CHAPTER   XLVIIL 


Let  us  now  return  to  some  of  the  actors  in  our  drama  who 
for  a  while  l)ack  have  been  playing  out  their  parts  behind 
the  scenes.  The  Heathcote  family,  consisting  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam and  his  ward,  May  Leslie,  Mrs.  Morris  and  her  late 
husband's  friend,  Captain  Holmes,  were  domesticated  in  a 
sumptuous  residence  near  the  "Pincian,"  but  neither  going 
out  into  the  world  nor  themselves  receiving  visitors.  Sir 
William's  health,  much  broken  and  uncertain  as  it  was, 
formed  the  excuse  for  this  reclusion ;  but  the  real  reason  was 
the  fact,  speedily  ascertained  by  the  Captain,  and  as 
speedily  conveyed  to  his  daughter,  that  "Society"  had 
already  decided  against  them,  and  voted  the  English  family 
at  the  Palazzo  Balbi  as  disfranchised. 

Very  curious  and  very  subtle  things  are  the  passively 
understood  decrees  of  those  who  in  each  city  of  Europe  call 
themselves  the  "World."  The  delicate  shades  by  which 
recognition  is  separated  from  exclusion;  the  fine  tints,  per- 
ceptible only  to  the  eyes  of  fashion,  by  which  certain  frail- 
ties are  relieved  from  being  classed  with  grave  derelictions; 
the  enduring  efficacy  of  the  way  in  which  the  smell  of  the 
roses  will  cling  to  the  broken  vase  of  virtue  and  rescue  its 
fragments  from  dishonor,  —  are  all  amongst  the  strangest 
and  most  curious  secrets  of  our  civilization. 

Were  it  not  for  a  certain  uniformity  in  the  observances, 
one  might  be  disposed  to  stigmatize  as  capricious  the 
severity  occasionally  displayed  here,  while  a  merciful  lenity 
was  exhibited  there;  but  a  closer  examination  will  show 
that  some  fine  discriminating  sense  is  ever  at  work,  capable 
of  distinguishing  between  genteel  vice  and  the  wickedness 
that  forgets  conventionalities.     As  in  law,  so  in  morals,  no 


AT   ROME.  453 

man  need  criminate  himself,  but  he  who  does  so  by  an  inad- 
vertence is  lost.  Now  the  Heathcotes  were  rich,  and  yet 
lived  secluded.  The  world  wanted  not  another  count  in  the 
indictment  against  them.  A  hundred  stories  were  circu- 
lated about  them.  They  had  come  to  place  the  "girl  "  in  a 
convent.  Old  Sir  "William  had  squandered  away  all  her 
fortune,  and  the  scheme  now  was  to  induce  her  to  turn 
Catholic  and  take  the  veil.  "  The  old  fool  "  —  the  world  is 
complimentary  on  these  occasions  —  was  going  to  marry 
that  widow,  whom  he  had  picked  up  at  Leamington  or 
Ems  or  Baden-Baden.  If  the  Captain  had  not  kept  the 
Hell  in  the  Circus,  he  was  the  vei^  double  of  the  man  who 
had  it.  At  all  events,  it  was  better  not  to  have  him  in  the 
Club ;  and  so  the  banker,  w^ho  was  to  have  proposed,  with- 
drew him. 

It  may  be  imagined  that  some  verj'  palpable  and  suffi- 
cient cause  was  at  work  to  induce  society  thus  to  stand  on 
the  defensive  towards  these  new-comers.  Nothing  of  the 
kind.  All  the  evidence  against  them  was  shadowy;  all  the 
charges  such  as  denied  detail.  They  were  an  odd  set,  they 
lived  in  a  strange  fashion,  they  knew  nobody;  and  to  ac- 
cusations like  these  even  spotless  integrity  must  succumb. 

Dressed  in  a  rohe  de  chambre  that  would  have  made  the 
fortune  of  a  French  Vaudeville  actor,  with  a  gold-tasselled 
fez,  and  slippers  to  match,  the  Captain  sat,  smoking  a 
splendid  meerschaum,  in  a  well-cushioned  chair,  while  his 
daughter  was  engaged  at  her  embroidery,  opposite  to  him. 
Though  it  was  midwinter,  the  sun  streamed  in  through  the 
orange-trees  on  the  terrace,  and  made  a  rainbow  of  the 
spray  that  dashed  from  the  marble  fountain.  The  room 
itself  combined  all  the  sumptuous  luxury  we  understand  by 
the  word  "comfort,"  with  the  graceful  elegance  of  a  South- 
ern existence.  There  were  flowers  and  fresh  air,  and  the 
song  of  birds  to  be  enjoyed  on  the  softest  of  sofas  and  the 
best  carpeted  of  floors. 

A  large  goblet  of  some  amber-colored  drink,  in  which  a 
rock  of  pure  ice  floated,  stood  at  the  Captain's  elbow,  and 
he  sipped  and  puffed,  with  his  head  thrown  well  back,  in  an 
attitude  that  to  smokers  must  have  some  Elysian  ecstasy. 
Nor  was  his  daughter  the  least  ornamental  part  of  the  situa- 


454  ONE   OF  THEM. 

tion ;  a  morning  dress  of  white  muslin,  tastefully  trimmed 
with  sky-blue  ribbons,  and  a  rich  fall  of  Brussels  lace  over 
her  head,  making  a  very  charming  picture  of  the  graceful 
figure  that  now  bent  over  the  embroidery-frame. 

"I  tell  you  it  won't  do,  Loo,"  said  he,  removing  his  pipe, 
and  speaking  in  a  firm  and  almost  authoritative  voice.  "I 
have  been  thinking  a  great  deal  over  it,  and  you  must  posi- 
tively get  away  from  this." 

"I  know  that  too,"  said  she,  calmly;  "and  I  could  have 
managed  it  easily  enough  but  for  this  promised  visit  of 
Charles.  He  comes  through  ou  his  way  to  Malta,  and  Sir 
William  would  not  hear  of  anything  that  risked  the  chance 
of  seeing  him." 

"I  'd  rather  risk  that  than  run  the  hazards  we  daily  do  in 
this  place,"  said  he,  gravely. 

"You  forget,  papa,  that  he  knows  nothing  of  these  haz- 
ards. He  is  eager  to  see  his  son,  for  what  he  naturally 
thinks  may  be  the  last  time.  I  'm  sure  I  did  my  best  to 
prevent  the  meeting.  I  wrote  to  Lord  Agincourt;  I  wrote 
to  Charles  himself.  I  represented  all  the  peril  the  agitation 
might  occasion  his  father,  and  how  seriously  the  parting 
might  affect  a  constitution  so  impressionable  as  his,  but  to 
no  purpose;  he  coldly  replies,  '  Nothing  short  of  my  father's 
refusal  to  see  me  shall  prevent  my  coming  to  see  him,'  or 
'  embrace  him,'  or —  I  forget  the  words,  but  the  meaning 
is,  that  come  he  will,  and  that  his  arrival  may  be  counted 
on  before  the  end  of  the  week." 

"What  stay  will  he  make?" 

"He  speaks  of  three  or  four  days  at  farthest.  We  can 
learn  the  limit  easily  enough  by  the  time  of  the  P.  and  O. 
steamer's  sailing.     Ask  for  it  at  the  banker's." 

"I  don't  call  in  there  now,"  said  he,  peevishly.  "Since 
they  took  down  my  name  for  the  Club-ballot,  I  have  not  gone 
to  the  bank." 

She  sighed  heavily ;  there  was  more  than  one  care  on  her 
heart,  and  that  sigh  gathered  in  a  whole  group  of  anxieties. 

"They  have  got  up  all  sorts  of  stories  about  us;  and  it  is 
always  out  of  these  false  attacks  of  scandal  comes  the  real 
assault  that  storms  the  citadel." 

She  sighed  again,  but  did  not  speak. 


-      AT   ROME.  455 

"So  long  as  Heathcote  keeps  the  house  and  sees  nobody, 
ail  may  go  on  well;  but  let  him  be  about  again,  able  to 
ramble  amongst  the  galleries  and  churches,  he  is  certain  to 
meet  some  amiable  acquaintance,  who  will  startle  him  with 
a  few  home  truths.  I  tell  you  again,  we  are  banqueting 
over  a  powder-magazine;  and  even  as  to  the  marriage  itself, 
I  don't  like  it.  Are  you  aware  of  the  amount  he  is  able 
to  settle?  I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes  when  I  read  the 
di-aft.  It  is  neither  more  nor  less  than  eight  thousand 
pounds.  Fancy  taking  such  a  husband  for  eight  thousand 
pounds ! " 

"You  scarcely  put  the  case  fairly,  papa,"  said  she,  smil- 
ing; "the  eight  thousand  is  the  compensation  for  losing 
him." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  him,  then? "  asked  he,  with  a  sar- 
castic twinkle  of  the  eye. 

"I  don't  think  so,  — at  least,  not  to  desperation." 

"It  is  scarcely  for  the  sake  of  being  '  My  Lady.'  " 

"Oh  dear,  no;  that  is  a  snobbery  quite  beyond  me.  Now, 
I  neither  marry  for  the  title,  nor  the  man,  nor  his  money, 
nor  his  station ;  but  out  of  that  mass  of  motives  which  to 
certain  women  have  the  force  of  a  principle,  I  can  explain 
what  I  mean,  perhaps,  by  an  illustration:  Were  you  to  tell 
a  fashionable  physician,  in  first-rate  practice,  that  if  he 
got  up  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  and  drove  off  two  miles  to 
a  certain  corner  of  Regent's  Park,  where  under  a  particular 
stone  he  'd  find  a  guinea,  it  is  more  than  certain  he  'd  not 
stir;  but  if  you  sent  for  the  same  man  to  a  case  of  illness, 
he  'd  go  unhesitatingly,  and  accept  his  guinea  as  the  due 
recompense  of  his  trouble.  This  is  duty,  or  professional 
instinct,  or  something  else  with  a  fine  name,  but  it 's  not 
gold-seeking.  There  now,  make  out  my  meaning  out  of 
my  parable,  as  best  you  may.  And,  after  all,  papa,  I'm 
not  quite  sure  that  I  intend  to  marry  him." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Oh,  pray  don't  be  frightened.  I  merely  meant  to  say 
that  there  was  an  eventuality  which  might  rescue  me  from 
this  necessity.  I  have  told  you  nothing  about  it  hitherto, 
dear  papa,  because  I  inherit  your  own  wholesome  dislike  to 
entertaining  my  friends  with  what  may  turn  out  mere  moon- 


456  ONE  OF  THEM. 

shine.  Now,  however,  that  the  project  has  a  certain  vitality 
in  it,  you  shall  hear  it." 

Holmes  drew  his  chair  close  to  her,  and,  laying  down  his 
pipe,  prepared  to  listen  with  all  attention. 

"If  I  hate  anything,"  said  she,  half  peevishl}',  "it  is  to 
talk  of  the  bygone,  and  utter  the  names  of  people  that  I 
desire  never  to  hear  again.  It  can't  be  helped,  however; 
and  here  goes.  After  the  events  in  Jersey,  you  remember 
I  left  the  island  and  came  abroad.  There  were  all  sorts  of 
confusion  about  H.'s  affairs.  The  law  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  his  papers,  placed  seals  on  everything,  and  resisted 
my  application  to  remove  them,  on  the  vexatious  plea  that 
I  was  not  his  wife,  and  could  not  administer  as  such.  A 
long  litigation  ensued,  and  at  last  my  marriage  was  ad- 
mitted, and  then  I  took  out  probate  and  received  a  few  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  some  little  chance  property;  the  bulk  of 
his  fortune  was,  however,  in  America,  and  settled  on  Clara 
by  a  will,  which  certain  writings  showed  was  in  the  posses- 
sion of  her  uncle,  now  nominated  to  be  her  guardian,  a  cer- 
tain Harvey  Winthrop,  of  Norfolk,  Virginia.  I  opened  a 
correspondence  with  him,  and  suggested  the  propriety  of 
leaving  Clara  with  me,  as  I  had  always  regarded  her  as  my 
own  child,  and  hinting  at  the  appropriateness  of  some 
allowance  for  her  maintenance  and  education.  He  replied 
with  promptitude  and  much  kindness,  expressed  great  sym- 
pathy for  my  late  loss,  and  made  a  very  liberal  settlement 
for  Clara. 

"All  went  on  peaceably  and  well  for  two  years,  when  one 
morning  came  a  letter  from  Winthrop  of  a  most  alarming 
nature.  Without  any  positive  charge,  it  went  on  to  say  that 
he  had,  for  reasons  which  his  delicacy  would  prefer  to  spare 
me,  decided  on  himself  assuming  the  guardianship  of  his 
niece,  and  that  if  I  would  kindly  come  to  London,  or  name 
any  convenient  place  on  the  Continent  for  our  meeting,  he 
would  punctually  present  himself  at  the  time  agreed  on.  Of 
course  I  guessed  what  had  occurred,  —  indeed,  it  had  always 
been  a  matter  of  astonishment  to  me  how  long  I  had  been 
spared;  at  all  events,  I  determined  on  resistance.  I  wrote 
back  a  letter,  half  sorrow,  half  indignation ;  I  spoke  of  the 
dear  child  as  all  that  remained  of  consolation  to  my  widowed 


'      AT  ROME.  457 

heart;  I  said  that  though  it  was  in  his  competence  to  with- 
hold from  me  the  little  pittance  which  served  to  relieve  some 
of  the  pressure  of  our  narrow  means,  yet  I  would  not  sepa- 
rate myself  from  my  darling  child,  even  though  at  the 
cost  of  sharing  with  her  a  mere  sutficiency  for  support.  I 
told  him,  besides,  that  he  should  never  hear  from  me  more, 
nor  would  all  his  efforts  enable  him  to  trace  us.  It  was 
then  I  became  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris.  I  suppose  Winthi'op 
was  sorry  for  his  step;  at  least,  by  a  variety  of  curious 
advertisements  in  English  papers,  he  suggested  that  some 
accommodation  might  be  arranged,  and  entreated  me  to 
renew  intercourse  with  him.  There  were  many  reasons  why 
I  could  not  agree  to  this.  Clara,  too,  was  of  great  use  to 
me.  To  a  lone  woman  in  the  world,  without  any  definite 
belongings,  a  child  is  invaluable.  The  advertisements 
were  continued,  and  even  rewards  offered  for  such  infor- 
mation as  might  lead  to  my  discovery.  All  in  vain:  he 
never  succeeded  in  tracing  me,  and  at  length  gave  up 
the  pursuit. 

"I  must  now  skip  over  some  years  which  have  no  bearing 
on  this  incident,  and  come  to  a  period  comparatively  recent, 
when,  in  the  transaction  of  certain  purchases  of  American 
securities,  I  came  unexpectedly  on  the  mention  of  a  new 
railroad  line  through  a  district  whose  name  was  familiar  to 
me.  I  set  myself  to  think  where,  when,  and  how  I  had 
heard  of  this  place  before,  and  at  last  remembered  it  was 

from   H ,  who  used   to  talk  of   this  property  as  what 

would  one  day  make  his  daughter  a  great  heiress.  My 
moneyed  speculations  had  led  me  into  much  intimacy  here 
with  a  banker,  Mr.  Trover,  over  whom  an  accidental  dis- 
covery gave  me  absolute  power.  It  was  no  less  than  a  for- 
gery he  had  committed  on  my  name,  and  of  which,  before 
relinquishing  the  right  to  take  proceedings  against  him,  I 
obtained  his  full  confession  in  writing.  With  this  tie  over 
llie  man,  he  was  my  slave;  I  sent  him  here  and  there  at 
my  pleasure,  to  buy,  and  sell,  and  gain  information,  and  so 
on,  and,  above  all,  to  obtain  a  full  account  of  the  value  of 
this  American  property,  where  it  lay,  and  how  it  was  occu- 
pied. It  was  in  the  midst  of  these  inquiries  came  a  great 
financial  crash,  and  my  agent  was  obliged  to  fly.     At  first 


458  ONE   OF  THEM. 

he  went  to  Malta;  he  came  back,  but,  after  a  few  weeks, 
he  set  out  for  the  States.  He  was  fully  in  possession  of  the 
circumstances  of  this  property,  and  Clara's  right  to  it,  and 
equally  so  of  my  determination  that  she  should  never  inherit 
it.  We  had,  on  one  of  the  evenings  he  was  here,  a  long 
conversation  on  the  subject,  and  he  cunningly  asked  me,  — 

" '  How  was  the  property  settled  in  reversion?  ' 

"It  was  a  point  I  never  knew,  for  I  never  saw  H. 's  will. 

" '  The  will  was  made  four  years  before  his  death ;  might 
he  not  have  made  a  later  one  on  his  death-bed  ?  —  might  he 
not  have  bequeathed  the  estate  in  reversion  to  yourself  in 
case  she  died?  —  might  she  not  have  died? ' 

"All  these  he  asked,  and  all  of  them  had  been  my  own 
unceasing  thoughts  for  years  back.  It  was  a  scheme  I  had 
planned  and  brooded  over  days  and  nights  long.  It  was  to 
prepare  the  road  for  it  that  I  sent  away  Clai-a,  and,  under 
the  name  of  Stocmar,  had  her  inscribed  at  the  Conserva- 
toire of  Milan.  Was  it  that  Trover  had  read  my  secret 
thoughts,  or  had  he  merely  chanced  upon  them  by  mere 
accident?  I  did  not  dare  to  ask  him,  for  I  felt  that  by 
his  answer  /  should  be  as  much  in  his  power  as  he  was  in 
mine. 

"  '  I  have  often  imagined  there  might  be  such  a  will,'  said 
I ;  '  there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  it  is  not  in  existence. 
Could  it  not  be  searched  for  and  found  ? ' 

"He  understood  me  at  once,  and  replied,  — 

"  '  Have  you  any  of  Hawke's  handwriting  by  you?  ' 

"  '  A  quantity,'  said  I;  'and  it  is  a  remarkable  hand, 
very  distinctive,  and  not  hard  to  imitate,  —  at  least,  by  any 
one  skilled  in  such  accomplishments.' 

"He  blushed  a  little  at  the  allusion,  but  laughed  it  off. 

'"The  girl  could  have  died  last  year;  she  might  have 
been  buried,  — where  shall  we  say?  '  added  he,  carelessly. 

"  '  At  Meisner,  in  the  Tyrol,'  said  I,  catching  at  the  idea 
that  just  struck  me,  for  my  maid  died  in  that  place,  and  I 
bad  got  the  regular  certificate  of  her  death  and  burial  from 
the  Syndic,  and  I  showed  him  the  document. 

"'This  is  admirable,'  said  he;  'nothing  easier  than  to 
erase  this  name  and  insert  another. ' 

"'I  cannot  hear  of  such  a  thing,  Mr.  Trover,'  said  I; 


'     AT  ROME.  459 

*  nor  can  I,  after  such  a  proposal,  suffer  the  paper  to  leave 
my  hands.'     And  with  this  I  gave  it  to  him. 

"  '  I  could  not  dream  of  such  an  act,  madam,'  said  he,  with 
great  seriousness ;  '  it  would  amount  to  a  forgery.  Now  for 
one  last  question,'  said  he,  after  a  little  interval  of  silence: 
'  what  would  you  deem  a  suitable  reward  to  the  person  who 
should  discover  this  missing  will,  and  restore  this  property 
to  the  rightful  owner?  Would  twenty  per  cent  on  the  value 
appear  to  you  too  much  ?  ' 

"  '  I  should  say  that  the  sum  was  a  high  one,  but  if  the 
individual  acquitted  himself  with  all  the  integrity  and  all 
the  delicacy  the  situation  demanded,  never  by  even  an  im- 
plication involving  any  one  who  trusted  him,  conducting 
the  transaction  to  its  end  on  his  own  responsibility  and  by 
his  own  uuaided  devices,  why,  then,  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  I  would  judge  the  reward  to  be  insufficient.' 

"  So  much,  dear  papa,  will  put  you  in  possession  of  the 
treaty  then  ratified  between  us.  I  was  to  supply  all  the 
funds  for  present  expenses;  Mr.  Trover  to  incur  all  the 
perils.  He  was  invested  with  full  powers,  in  fact,  to 
qualify  himself  for  Botany  Bay;  and  I  promised  to  forward 
his  views  towards  a  ticket  of  leave  if  the  worst  were  to  hap- 
pen him.  It  was  a  very  grave  treaty  very  laughingly  and 
playfully  conducted.  Trover  had  just  tact  enough  for  the 
occasion,  and  was  most  jocose  wherever  the  point  was  a 
perilous  one.  From  the  letters  and  papers  in  my  posses- 
sion, he  found  details  quite  ample  enough  to  give  him  an 
insight  into  the  nature  of  the  property,  and  also,  what  he 
deemed  of  no  small  importance,  some  knowledge  of  the 
character  of  this  Mr.  Winthrop,  Clara's  uncle.  This  person 
appeared  to  be  an  easy-tempered,  good-natured  man,  not 
diflicult  to  deal  with,  nor  in  any  way  given  to  suspicion. 
Trover  was  very  prompt  in  his  proceedings.  On  the  even- 
ing after  our  conversation  he  showed  me  the  draft  of 
Hawke's  will,  dated  at  Jersey,  about  eight  days  before  his 
death.  It  was  then,  for  the  first  time,  I  learned  that  Trover 
knew  the  whole  story,  and  who  /was.  This  rather  discon- 
certed me  at  first.  There  are  few  things  more  disconcerting 
than  to  find  out  that  a  person  who  has  for  a  long  intercourse 
never  alluded  to  your  past  history,  has  been  all  the  while 


460  ONE  OF  THEM. 

fully  acquainted  with  it.  The  way  he  showed  his  knowledge 
of  the  subject  was  characteristic.  In  pointing  out  to  me 
Hawke's  signature,  he  remarked,  — 

"'I  have  made  the  witnesses  —  Towers,  who  was  exe- 
cuted, and  Collier,  who,  I  have  heard,  died  in  Australia.' 

"  '  How  familiar  you  are  with  these  names,  sir! '  said  I, 
curiously. 

"  '  Yes,  madam,'  said  he;  '  I  edited  a  well-known  weekly 
newspaper  at  that  time,  and  got  some  marvellous  details 
from  a  fellow  who  was  on  the  spot.' 

"I  assure  you,  papa,  though  I  am  not  given  to  tremors, 
I  shuddered  at  having  for  my  accomplice  a  man  that  I  could 
not  deceive  as  to  my  past  life.  It  was  to  be  such  an  open 
game  between  us  that,  in  surrendering  all  the  advantages  of 
my  womanly  arts,  I  felt  I  was  this  man's  slave,  and  yet  he 
was  a  poor  creature.  He  had  the  technical  craft  for  simu- 
lating a  handwriting  and  preparing  a  false  document,  but 
was  miserably  weak  in  providing  for  all  the  assaults  that 
must  be  directed  against  its  authenticity. 

"His  plan  was,  armed  with  what  he  called  an  attested 
copy  of  H.'s  will,  to  set  out  for  America  and  discover  this 
Mr.  Winthrop.  Cleverly  enough,  he  had  bethought  him  of 
securing  this  gentleman's  co-operation  by  making  him  a 
considerable  inheritor  under  the  will.  In  fact,  he  charged 
the  estate  with  a  very  handsome  sum  in  his  favor,  and  cal- 
culated on  all  the  advantages  of  this  bribe;  and  without 
knowing  it,  Mr.  Winthrop  was  to  be  '  one  of  us.' 

"He  sailed  in  due  time,  but  I  heard  no  more  of  him;  and, 
indeed,  I  began  to  suspect  that  the  two  bank-notes  I  had 
given  him,  of  one  hundred  each,  had  been  very  unprofitably 
invested,  when  by  this  day's  post  a  letter  reaches  me  to  say 
that  success  had  attended  him  throughout.  By  a  mere 
accidental  acquaintance  on  a  railroad,  he  '  fell  in  '  with  — 
that 's  his  phrase,  which  may  mean  that  he  stole  —  some 
very  curious  documents  which  added  to  his  credit  with  Win- 
throp. He  describes  this  gentleman  as  exactly  what  he 
looked  for,  and  with  this  advantage,  that  having  latterly 
been  somewhat  unfortunate  in  speculation,  he  was  the  more 
eager  to  repair  his  fortune  by  the  legacy.  He  says  that  only 
one  embarrassino;  circumstance  occurred,  and  this  was  that 


-     AT  ROME.  461 

Winthrop  determined  at  once  on  coming  over  to  England,  so 
that  the  authenticity  of  the  will  should  be  personally  ascer- 
tained by  him,  and  all  his  own  proceedings  in  the  matter  be 
made  sure.  '  For  this  purpose,'  he  writes,  '  we  shall  sail 
from  this  place  by  the  first  steamer  for  Liverpool,  where  let 
me  have  a  letter  addressed  to  the  Albion  to  say  where  you 
are  to  be  found.  Wiuthrop's  first  object  will  be  to  meet 
you,  and  you  must  bethink  you  well  what  place  you  will 
deem  most  suitable  for  this  purpose.  Of  course  the  more 
secluded  and  private  the  better.  I  have  explained  to  him 
that  so  overwhelmed  were  you  by  the  terrible  event  of  H.'s 
death  you  had  never  entered  the  world  since ;  and,  in  fact, 
so  averse  to  anything  that  might  recall  the  past  that  you 
had  never  administered  to  the  will,  nor  assumed  any  of  your 
rights  to  property,  and  it  would  be  well  for  him,  if  he  could, 
to  arouse  you  out  of  this  deadly  lethargy,  and  call  you  back 
to  something  like  existence.  This  explained  why  I  had 
taken  the  journey  out  to  America  to  meet  him. '  You  will 
perceive,  papa,  that  Mr.  Trover  knows  how  to  lie  '  with  the 
circumstance,'  and  is  not  unitarian  in  his  notions  of 
falsehood. 

"  I  am  far  from  liking  this  visit  of  Mr.  Winthrop.  I  wish 
from  my  heart  that  his  scruples  had  been  less  nice,  and  that 
he  had  been  satisfied  to  eat  his  cake  without  inquiring 
whether  every  one  else  had  got  his  share ;  but,  as  he  is  com- 
ing, we  must  make  the  best  of  it.  And  now,  what  advice 
have  you  to  give  me?  Of  course,  we  cannot  suffer  him  to 
come  here." 

"Certainly  not,  Loo.  We  must  have  out  the  map,  and 
think  it  over.  Does  Trover  tell  you  what  amount  the  prop- 
erty may  be  worth?  " 

"  He  says  that  there  are  three  lots.  Two  have  been  valued 
at  something  over  a  million  of  dollars;  the  third,  if  the  rail- 
road be  carried  through  it,  will  be  more  valuable  still.  It 
is,  he  says,  an  immense  estate  and  in  high  productiveness. 
Let  us,  however,  think  of  our  cards,  papa,  and  not  the 
stake;  there  is  much  to  provide.  I  have  no  certificate  of 
my  marriage  with  IlaAvke." 

"That  must  be  thought  of,"  said  he,  musingly. 

"  Clara,  too,  must  be  thought  of,  —  married,  if  possible, 


462  ONE   OF  THEM. 

to  some  one  going  abroad,  —  to  Australia  or  New  Zealand. 
Perhaps  O'Shea."  And  she  burst  out  a-laughing  at  the 
thought. 

"Or  Paten.     I'd  say  Ludlow  —  " 

A  look  of  sickly  aversion  crossed  his  daughter's  face  at 
the  suggestion,  and  she  said,  — 

"  Nothing  on  earth  would  induce  me  to  consent  to  it." 

The  Captain  might  have  regarded  this  as  a  woman's  weak- 
ness, but  he  said  nothing. 

"  It  will  be  very  difficult  for  me  to  get  away  at  this  mo- 
ment too,"  said  she,  after  a  pause.  "  I  don't  fancy  being 
absent  while  young  Heathcote  is  here.  He  will  be  making 
all  manner  of  inquiries  about  Clara,  —  where  she  is,  with 
whom,  and  for  what?  If  I  were  on  the  spot,  I  could  sup- 
press such  perquisitions." 

"After  all,  dear  Loo,  the  other  is  the  great  event.  I 
conclude,  if  all  goes  smoothly  about  this  work,  you  '11  never 
dream  of  the  marriage  with  Sir  William  ?  " 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  she,  roguishly.  "  I  am  not  so  des- 
perately in  love  as  to  do  an  imprudence.  There  is,  however, 
much  to  be  thought  of,  papa.  In  a  few  days  more  Ludlow 
is  to  be  back  here  with  my  letters,  more  than  ever  necessary 
at  this  moment,  when  any  scandal  might  be  fatal.  If  he 
were  to  know  anything  of  this  accession  of  fortune,  his 
demands  would  be  insupportable." 

"  No  doubt  of  that.  At  the  same  time,  if  he  merely  hears 
that  your  marriage  with  the  Baronet  is  broken  off,  he  will  be 
more  tractable.     How  are  you  to  obtain  these  letters?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she,  with  a  stolid  look. 

"  Are  you  to  buy  them?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"He  will  scarcely  surrender  them  out  of  any  impulse  of 
generosity  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  she,  again;  and  over  her  features 
there  was  a  sickly  pallor  that  changed  all  their  expression, 
and  made  her  look  even  years  older  than  she  was.  He 
looked  at  her  compassionately,  for  there  was  that  in  her  face 
that  might  well  have  challenged  pity. 

"But,  Loo,  dearest,"  said  he,  encouragingly,  "place  the 
affair  in  my  hands,  and  see  if  I  cannot  bring  it  to  a  good 
ending." 


AT   ROME.  463 

"  He  makes  it  a  condition  to  treat  with  none  but  myself, 
and  there  is  a  cowardice  in  this  of  which  he  knows  all  the 
advantage." 

"  It  must  be  a  question  of  money,  after  all.  It  is  a  matter 
of  figures." 

"  He  would  say  not.  At  the  very  moment  of  driving  his 
hardest  bargain  he  would  interpose  some  reference  to  what 
he  is  pleased  to  call  '  his  feelings.'  I  told  him  that  even 
Shylock  did  not  insult  his  victim  with  a  mock  sympathy,  nor 
shed  false  tears  over  the  pain  his  knife  was  about  to  inflict." 

"  It  was  not  the  way  to  conciliate  him.  Loo." 

"  Conciliate  him  !  Oh,  how  you  know  him  !  "  She  pressed 
her  hands  over  her  face  as  she  spoke,  and  when  she  withdrew 
them  the  cheeks  were  scalded  with  tears. 

"Come,  come.  Loo,  this  is  scarcely  like  yourself." 

"There,  it's  over  now,"  said  she,  smiling,  with  a  half-sad 
look,  as  she  pushed  her  hair  back,  as  though  to  suffer  the 
cool  air  to  bathe  her  forehead.  "  Oh  dear  !  "  sighed  she  out, 
"  if  I  only  could  have  foreseen  all  the  perils  before  me,  I 
might  have  borne  with  George  Ogden,  and  lived  and  died 
what  the  world  calls  respectable." 

He  gave  a  little  sigh  too,  which  might  have  meant  that  he 
agreed  with  her,  or  that  the  alternative  was  a  hard  one,  or 
that  respectability  was  a  very  expensive  thing  for  people  of 
small  means,  or  a  little  of  all  three  together,  which  was  most 
probable,  since  the  Captain  rarely  dealt  in  motives  that  were 
not  sufficiently  mixed. 

"And  now,  papa,"  said  she,  "use  your  most  ingenious 
devices  to  show  me  how  I  am  to  answer  all  these  engage- 
ments, and  while  I  meet  Mr.  Winthrop  in  Switzerland,  con- 
trive also  to  be  on  guard  here,  and  on  outpost  duty  with  Mr. 
Ludlow  Paten." 

"  You  '11  do  it,  Loo,  —  you  '11  do  it,  or  nobody  else  will,"  said 
he,  sip[)ing  his  iced  drink,  and  gazing  on  her  approvingly. 

"  AVhat  would  you  say  to  Bregenz  for  our  rendezvous  with 
Winthrop?"  said  she,  bending  over  the  map.  "It  is  as 
quiet  and  forgotten  a  spot  as  any  I  know  of." 

"  So  it  is.  Loo  ;  and  one  of  the  ver}'  few  where  the  English 
never  go,  or,  at  least,  never  sojourn." 

"I  wish   we   could   manage   to    find  a  small  house  or  a 


464  ONE   OF   THEM. 

cottage  there.  I  should  like  to  be  what  dramatists  call '  dis- 
covered' in  a  humbly  furnished  chamber,  living  with  my 
dear  old  father,  venerable  in  years  and  virtues." 

"  Well,  it  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  manage.  If  you  like, 
I  '11  set  off  there  and  make  the  arrangements.  I  could  start 
this  evening." 

"  How  good  of  you!  Let  me  think  a  little  over  it,  and  I 
will  decide.  It  would  be  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  have  you 
here  when  Charles  Heathcote  comes,  I  might  need  your 
assistance  in  many  ways,  but  perhaps —  Yes,  you  had 
better  go ;  and  a  pressing  entreaty  on  your  part  for  me  to 
hasten  to  the  death-bed  of  my  '  poor  aunt '  can  be  the  reason 
for  my  own  hurried  departure.  Is  it  not  provoking  how 
many  embarrassments  press  at  the  same  moment?  It  is  au 
attack  front,  rear,  and  on  the  flanks." 

"  You  're  equal  to  it,  dear,  —  you  're  equal  to  it,"  said  he, 
with  the  same  glance  of  encouragement. 

"I  almost  think  I  should  go  with  you,  papa,  —  take 
French  leave  of  these  good  people,  and  evacuate  the  for- 
tress, —  if  it  were  not  that  next  week  I  expect  Ludlow  to 
be  back  here  with  the  letters,  and  I  cannot  neglect  that. 
Can  you  explain  it  to  me  ?  "  cried  she,  more  eagerl}^,  —  "there  is 
not  one  in  this  family  for  whom  I  entertain  the  slightest  sense 
of  regard,  —  they  are  all  less  than  indifferent  to  me,  —  and 
yet  I  would  do  anything,  endure  anything,  rather  than  they 
should  learn  my  true  history,  and  know  all  about  my  past 
life ;  and  this,  too,  with  the  certainty  that  we  were  never  to 
meet  again." 

"  That  is  pride,  Loo,  —  mere  pride." 

"No,"  said  she,  tremulously,  "it  is  shame.  The  con- 
sciousness that  one's  name  is  never  to  be  uttered  but  in  scorn 
in  those  places  where  once  it  was  always  spoken  of  in  honor, 
—  the  thought  that  the  fair  fame  we  had  done  so  much  to 
build  up  should  be  a  dreary  ruin,  is  one  of  the  saddest  the 
heart  can  feel ;  for,  let  the  world  say  what  it  will,  we  often 
give  all  our  energies  to  hypocrisy,  and  throw  passion  into 
what  we  meant  to  be  mere  acting.  "Well,  well,  enough  of 
moralizing,  now  for  action.  You  will  want  money  for  this 
trip,  papa;  see  if  there  be  enough  there."  And  she  opened 
her  writing-desk,  and  pushed  it  towards  him. 


AT  ROME.  465 

The  Captain  took  out  his  double  eye-glass,  and  then,  with 
due  deliberation,  proceeded  to  count  over  a  roll  of  English 
notes  fresh  from  the  bank. 

"  In  funds,  I  see,  Loo,"  said  he,  smiling. 

''  It  is  part  of  the  last  three  hundred  I  possess  in  the  world. 
I  drew  it  out  yesterday,  and,  as  I  signed  the  check,  I  felt  as 
might  a  sailor  going  over  the  side  as  his  ship  was  sinking. 
Do  you  know,"  said  she,  hurriedly,  "it  takes  a  deal  of 
courage  to  lead  the  life  I  have  done." 

"  No  doubt,  —  no  doubt,"  muttered  he.  as  he  went  on 
counting.     "Forty-five,  fifty,  fifty-five  —  " 

"  Take  them  all,  papa  ;  I  have  no  need  of  them.  Before 
the  month  ends  I  mean  to  be  a  millionnaire  or  '  My  Lady.' " 

"  I  hope  not  the  latter.  Loo  ;  I  hope  sincerely  not,  dearest. 
It  would  be  a  cruel  sacrifice,  and  really  for  nothing." 

"  A  partnership  in  an  old-established  house,"  said  she, 
with  a  mocking  laugh,  "  is  always  something;  but  I  won't 
prejudge  events,  nor  throw  my  cards  on  the  table  till  I 
Lave  lost  the  game.  And  ci  propos  to  losing  the  game, 
suppose  that  luck  should  turn  against  us,  —  suppose  that 
we  fail  to  supply  some  essential  link  in  this  chain  of  for- 
tune, —  suppose  that  Trover  should  change  his  mind  and 
sell  us,  —  suppose,  in  short,  anything  adverse  you  please, 
—  what  means  are  remaining  to  j'ou,  papa?  Have  you 
enough  to  support  us  in  some  cheap  unfrequented  spot 
at  home  or  abroad?" 

"  I  could  get  together  about  two  hundred  and  forty  pounds 
a  year,  not  more." 

"  One  could  live  upon  that,  could  n't  one?  "  asked  she. 

"  Yes,  in  a  fashion.  With  a  number  of  privations  you  have 
never  experienced,  self-denial  in  fifty  things  you  have  never 
known  to  be  luxuries,  with  a  small  house  and  small  habits  and 
small  acquaintances,  one  could  rub  through,  but  no  more." 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  like  to  try  it !  "  cried  she,  clasping  her 
hands  together.  "  Oh,  what  would  I  not  give  to  pass  one 
year  —  one  entire  year  of  life  —  without  the  ever-present 
terror  of  exposure,  shame,  and  scorn, — to  feel  that  when 
I  lie  down  to  rest  at  night  a  knock  at  the  street  door 
should  not  throw  me  into  the  cold  perspiration  of  ague, 
or  the  coming   of    the  postman  set  my  heart  a-throbbing, 


OF   THE 


466  ONE  OF  THEM. 

as  though  the  missive  were  a  sentence  on  me !  Why  can- 
not I  have  peace  like  this  ?  " 

"Poverty  has  no  peace,  my  dear  Loo.  It  is  the  poorest 
of  all  wars,  for  it  is  the  pettiest  of  all  objects.  It  would 
break  my  heart  to  see  you  engaged  in  such  a  conflict." 

And  the  Captain  suffered  his  eyes  to  range  over  the  hand- 
some room  and  its  fine  furniture,  while  his  thoughts  wandered 
to  a  French  cook,  and  that  delicious  "  Chateau  Margaux  "  he 
had  tasted  yesterday. 

Did  sberead  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  as,  with  a  touch 
of  scorn  in  her  manner,  she  said,  "  Doubtless  you  know  the 
world  better,"  and  left  the  room? 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

THE     PALAZZO     BALBI. 

The  household  of  the  Palazzo  Balbi  was  unusually  busy  and 
active.  There  was  a  coming  and  a  parting  guest.  Sir 
William  himself  was  far  too  much  occupied  by  the  thoughts 
of  his  son's  arrival  to  bestow  much  interest  upon  the  depar- 
ture of  Captain  Holmes.  Not  that  this  ingenious  gentle- 
man had  failed  in  any  of  the  requirements  of  his  parasitical 
condition,  nay,  he  had  daily  improved  the  occasion  of  his 
presence,  and  ingratiated  himself  considerably  in  the  old 
Baronet's  favor ;  but  it  is,  happily,  the  lot  of  such  people 
to  be  always  forgotten  where  the  real  affections  are  in  play. 
They  while  away  a  weary  day,  they  palliate  the  small 
irritations  of  daily  life,  they  suggest  devices  to  cheat  ennui, 
but  they  have  no  share  in  deeper  sentiments  ;  we  neither 
rejoice  nor  weep  with  them. 

"Sorry  for  your  friend's  illness!" — "Sincerely  trust 
you  may  find  him  better!  "  — or,  "Ah,  it  is  a  lady,  I  for- 
got; and  that  we  may  soon  see  you  on  this  side  of  the 
Alps  again  !  "  — ^  "  Charming  weather  for  your  journey  !  "  — 
"  Good-bye,  good-bye  !  " 

And  with  this  he  shook  his  hand  cordially  enough,  and 
forgot  him. 

"I'm  scarcely  sorry  he's  gone,"  said  May,  "he  was  so 
deaf !  And  besides,  papa,  he  was  too  civil,  —  too  com- 
plaisant. I  own  I  had  become  a  little  impatient  of  his 
eternal  compliments,  and  the  small  scraps  out  of  Shelley 
and  Keats  that  he  adapted  to  my  address." 

"All  the  better  for  Charley,  that,"  said  the  old  Baronet. 
"You '11  bear  his  rough  frankness  with  more  forgiveness 
after  all  this  sugary  politeness."     He  never  noticed  how  this 


468  ONE   OF  THEM. 

random  speech  sent  the  blood  to  her  cheeks,  and  made  her 
crimson  over  face  and  neck ;  nor,  indeed,  had  he  much  time 
to  bestow  on  it,  for  the  servant  opened  the  door  at  the 
instant,  and  announced,  "  Captain  Heathcote."  In  a 
moment  the  son  was  in  his  father's  arms.  "My  boy,  my 
dear  boy,"  was  all  the  old  man  could  say ;  and  Charles, 
though  determined  to  maintain  the  most  stoical  calm  through- 
out the  whole  visit,  had  to  draw  his  hand  across  his  eyes  in 
secret. 

"  How  well  you  look,  Charley,  — stouter  and  heavier  than 
when  here.  English  life  and  habits  have  agreed  with  you, 
boy." 

"  Yes,  sir.  If  I  can  manage  to  keep  my  present  con- 
dition, I  'm  in  good  working  trim  for  a  campaign ;  and  you 
—  tell  me  of  yourself." 

"  There  is  little  to  say  on  that  subject.  When  men  live  to 
my  term,  about  the  utmost  they  can  say  is,  that  they  are 
here." 

Though  he  tried  to  utter  these  words  in  a  half-jocular 
tone,  his  voice  faltered,  and  his  lips  trembled ;  and  as  the 
young  man  looked,  he  saw  that  his  father's  face  was  care- 
worn and  sad,  and  that  months  had  done  the  work  of  years 
on  him  since  they  parted.  Charles  did  his  utmost  to  treat 
these  signs  of  sorrow  lightly,  and  spoke  cheerfully  and  even 

gayly. 

"I'd  go  with  your  merry  humor,  boy,  with  all  my  heart, 
if  you  were  not  about  to  leave  us." 

Was  it  anything  in  the  interests  thus  touched  on,  or  was 
it  the  chance  phrase,  "  to  leave  us,"  that  made  young 
Heathcote  become  pale  as  death  while  he  asked,  "  How  is 
May?" 

"Well,  —  quite  well;  she  was  here  a  moment  back.  I 
fancied  she  was  in  the  room  when  you  came  in.  I  '11  send 
for  her." 

"  No,  no;  time  enough.  Let  us  have  a  few  more  minutes 
together." 

In  a  sort  of  hurried  and  not  very  collected  way,  he  now 
ran  on  to  talk  of  his  prospects  and  the  life  before  him.  It 
was  easy  to  mark  how  the  assumed  slap-dash  manner  was  a 
mere  mask  to  the  bitter  pain  he  felt  and  that  he  knew  he 


THE   PALAZZO   BALBI.  469 

was  causing.  He  talked  of  India  as  though  a  few  days* 
distance,  —  of  the  campaign  like  a  hunting-party  ;  tbe  whole 
thing  was  a  sort  of  eccentric  ramble,  to  have  its  requital  in 
plenty  of  incident  and  adventure.  He  even  assumed  all 
the  vulgar  slang  about  '^  hunting  down  the  niggers,"  and 
coming  back  loaded  with  "  loot,"  when  the  old  man  threw 
his  arm  around  him,  and  said,  — 

"  But  not  to  me,  Charley,  —  not  to  me." 

The  chord  was  touched  at  last.  All  the  pretended  careless 
ease  was  gone,  and  the  young  man  sobbed  aloud  as  he 
pressed  his  father  to  his  breast.  The  secret  which  each 
wanted  to  keep  to  his  own  heart  was  out,  and  now  they  must 
not  try  any  longer  a  deception. 

"And  why  must  it  be,  Charley?  what  is  the  urgent  cause 
for  deserting  me?  I  have  more  need  of  you  than  ever  I  had. 
I  want  your  counsel  and  your  kindness ;  your  very  presence 

—  as  I  feel  it  this  moment —  is  worth  all  my  doctors." 

"I  think  you  know  —  I  think  I  told  you,  I  mean  —  that 
you  are  no  stranger  to  the  position  I  stood  in  here.  You 
never  taught  me,  father,  that  dependence  was  honorable.  It 
was  not  amongst  your  lessons  that  a  life  of  inglorious  idle- 
ness was  becoming."  As  with  a  faltering  and  broken  utter- 
ance he  spoke  these  words,  his  confusion  grew  greater  and 
greater,  for  he  felt  himself  on  the  very  verge  of  a  theme  that 
he  dreaded  to  touch  ;  and  at  last,  with  a  great  effort,  he  said, 
"  And  besides  all  this,  I  had  no  right  to  sacrifice  another  to 
my  selfishness." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Charley." 

"  Maybe  not,  sir ;  but  I  am  speaking  of  what  I  know  for 
certain.     But  let  us  not  go  back  on  these  things." 

"What  are  they?  Speak  out,  boy,"  cried  he.  more 
eagerly. 

"I  see  you  are  not  aware  of  what  I  thought  you  knew. 
You  do  not  seem  to  know  that  May's  affections  are  engaged, 

—  that  she  has  given  her  heart  to  that  young  college  man 
who  was  here  long  ago  as  Agincourt's  tutor.  They  have 
corresponded." 

"  Corresponded  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  it  all,  and  she  will  not  deny  it,  —  nor  need 
she,  from    all    I    can    learn.     He    is   a  fine-hearted    fellow, 


470  ONE  OF  THEM. 

worthy  of  any  girl's  love.  Agincourt  has  told  me  some 
noble  traits  of  him,  and  he  deserves  all  his  good  fortune." 

' '  But  to  think  that  she  should  have  contracted  this 
engagement  without  consulting  me,  —  that  she  should  have 
written  to  him  —  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  reproach  her,  a  poor  motherless 
girl.  How  could  she  go  to  you  with  her  heart  full  of  sorrows 
and  anxieties?  She  was  making  no  worldly  compact  in 
which  she  needed  your  knowledge  of  life  to  guide  her." 

"  It  was  treachery  to  us  all !  "  cried  the  old  man,  bitterly, 
for  now  he  saw  to  what  he  owed  his  son's  desertion  of  him. 

"  It  was  none  to  me;  so  much  I  will  say,  father.  A  stupid 
compact  would  have  bound  her  to  her  unhappiness,  and  this 
she  had  the  courage  to  resist." 

"  And  it  is  for  this  I  am  to  be  forsaken  in  my  old  age !  " 
exclaimed  he,  in  an  accent  of  deep  anguish.  "I  can  never 
forgive  her,  —  never  !  " 

Charles  sat  down  beside  him,  and,  with  his  arm  on  the  old 
man's  shoulder,  talked  to  him  long  in  words  of  truest  affec- 
tion. He  recalled  to  his  mind  the  circumstances  under  which 
May  Leslie  first  came  amongst  them,  the  daughter  of  his  old- 
est, dearest  friend,  intrusted  to  his  care,  to  become  one  day 
his  own  daughter,  if  she  willed  it. 

"  Would  you  coerce  her  to  this?  Would  you  profit  by  the 
authority  you  possess  over  her  to  constrain  her  will  ?  Is  it 
thus  you  would  interpret  the  last  dying  words  of  your  old 
companion?  Do  not  imagine,  father,  that  I  place  these 
things  before  you  in  cold  blood  or  indifference.  I  have  my 
share  of  sorrow  in  the  matter."  He  was  going  to  say  more, 
but  he  stopped  himself,  and,  arising,  walked  towards  the 
window.  "There  she  is !  "  cried  he,  "on  the  terrace;  I'll 
go  and  meet  her."     And  with  this  he  went  out. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  the  generous  enthusiasm  into 
which  Charles  Heathcote  had  worked  himself  to  subdue 
every  selfish  feeling  about  May  enabled  him  to  meet  her  with 
less  constraint  and  difficulty.  At  all  events,  he  came  towai'ds 
her  with  a  manner  so  like  old  friendship  that,  though  herself 
confused,  she  received  him  with  equal  cordiality. 

"  How  like  old  times.  May,  is  all  this !  "  said  he,  as,  with 
her   arm  within   his   own,  they  strolled   under  a  long  vine 


THE   PALAZZO   BALBI. 


471 


trellis.  "  If  I  had  not  to  remember  that  next  Wednesday  I 
must  be  at  Malta,  I  could  almost  fancy  I  had  never  been 
away.  I  wonder  when  we  are  to  meet  again?  and  where, 
and  how?" 

"I'm  sure  it  is  not  I  that  can  tell  you,"  said  she,  pain- 
fully ;  for  in  the  attempt  to  conceal  his  emotion  his  voice  had 
assumed  a  certain  accent  of  levity  that  wounded  her  deeply. 


"The  where  matters  little.  May,"  resumed  he;  "but  the 
when  is  much,  and  the  how  still  more." 

"It  is  fortunate,  then,  that  this  is  the  only  point  I  can  at 
all  answer  for,  for  I  think  I  can  say  that  we  shall  meet 
pretty  much  as  we  part." 

"What  am  I  to  understand  by  that,  May?"  asked  he, 
with  an  eagerness  that  forgot  all  dissimulation. 

"  How  do  you  find  papa  looking?"  asked  she,  hurriedly, 
as  a  deep  blush  covered  her  face.  "Is  he  as  well  as  you 
hoped  to  see  him?" 


472  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"No,"  said  he,  bluntly;  "he  has  grown  thin  and  care- 
worn.    Older  by  ten  years  than  I  expected  to  find  him." 

"He  has  been  much  fretted  of  late;  independently  of 
being  separated  from  yon,  he  has  had  many  anxieties." 

"I  have  heard  something  of  this;  more,  indeed,  than  I 
like  to  believe  true.  Is  it  possible,  May,  that  he  intends  to 
marry  ?  " 

She  nodded  twice  slowly,  without  speaking. 

"And  his  wife  is  to  be  this  Mrs.  Morris, — this  widow 
that  I  remember  at  Marlia,  long  ago  ?  " 

"  And  who  is  now  here  domesticated  with  us." 

"  What  do  3'ou  know  of  her?  What  does  any  one  know 
of  her?  "  asked  he,  impatiently. 

"  Absolutely  nothing, —  that  is,  of  her  history,  her  family, 
or  her  belongings.  Of  herself  I  can  only  say  that  she  is 
supreme  in  this  house  ;  her  orders  alone  are  obeyed.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  papa  confides  the  gravest  interests  to 
her  charge,  and  for  myself,  I  obey  her  by  a  sort  of  instinct." 

"  But  you  like  her.  May  ?  " 

"  I  am  too  much  afraid  of  her  to  like  her.  I  was  at  first 
greatly  attracted  by  fascinations  perfectly  new  to  me,  and  by 
a  number  of  graceful  accomplishments,  which  certainly  lent 
a  great  charm  to  her  society.  But  after  a  while  I  detected, 
or  I  fancied  that  I  detected,  that  all  these  attractions  were 
thrown  out  as  lures  to  amuse  and  occupy  us,  while  she  was 
engaged  in  studying  our  dispositions  and  examining  our 
natures.  Added  to  this,  I  became  aware  of  the  harshness 
she  secretly  bestowed  upon  poor  Clara,  whose  private  lec- 
tures were  little  else  than  tortures.  This  latter  completely 
estranged  me  from  her,  and,  indeed,  was  the  first  thing  which 
set  me  at  work  to  consider  her  character.  From  the  day 
when  Clara  left  this  —  " 

"  Left  this,  and  for  where?  "  cried  he. 

"I  cannot  tell  you;  we  have  never  heard  of  her  since. 
She  was  taken  away  by  a  guardian,  a  certain  Mr.  Stocmar, 
whom  papa  seemed  to  know,  or  at  least  thought  he  had  met 
somewhere,  many  years  ago.  It  was  shortly  after  the  tidings 
of  Captain  Morris's  death  this  gentleman  arrived  here  to 
claim  her." 

"  And  her  mother,  — was  she  willing  to  part  with  her?  " 


THE   PALAZZO   BALBI. 


473 


"  She  affected  great  sorrow  —  fainted,  I  think  —  when  she 
read  the  letter  that  apprised  her  of  the  necessity  ;  but  from 
Clara  herself  I  gathered  that  the  separation  was  most  grate- 
ful to  her,  and  that  for  some  secret  cause  I  did  not  dare  to 
ask  —  even  had  she  known  to  tell  —  they  were  not  to  meet 
again  for  many,  many  years." 

"  But  all  that  you  tell  me  is  unnatural,  May.  Is  there  not 
some  terrible  mystery  in  this  affair?  Is  there  not  some 
shameful  scandal  beneath  it  all?" 


A  heavy  sigh  seemed  to  concur  with  what  he  said. 

"  And  can  my  father  mean  to  marry  a  woman  of  whose 
past  life  he  knows  nothing?  Is  it  with  all  these  circum- 
stances of  suspicion  around  her  that  he  is  willing  to  share 
name  and  fortune  with  her?" 

"  As  to  that,  such  is  her  ascendancy  over  him,  that  were 
she  to  assure  him  of  the  most  improbable  or  impossible  of 
events  he  'd  not  discredit  her.  Some  secret  dread  of  what 
you  would  say  or  think  has  delayed  the  marriage  hitherto ; 


474  ONE   OF  THEM. 

but  once  you  have  taken  your  leave  and  are  fairly  off,  —  not 
to  return  for  years,  —  the  event  will  no  longer  be  deferred." 

"  Oh,  May,  how  you  grieve  me  !  I  cannot  tell  you  the 
misery  you  have  put  into  my  heart." 

"It  is  out  of  my  own  sorrow  I  have  given  you  to  drink," 
said  she,  bitterly.  "You  are  a  man,  and  have  a  man's 
career  before  you,  with  all  its  changeful  chances  of  good  or 
evil ;  I,  as  a  woman,  must  trust  my  hazard  of  happiness  to  a 
home,  and  very  soon  I  shall  have  none." 

He  tried  to  speak,  but  a  sense  of  choking  stopped  him, 
and  thus,  without  a  word  on  either  side,  they  walked  along 
several  minutes. 

"  May,"  said  he,  at  last,  "  do  you  remember  the  line  of 
the  poet,  — 

" '  Death  and  absence  differ  but  in  name '  1  " 

"  I  never  heard  it  before ;  but  why  do  you  ask  me?  " 

"  I  was  just  thinking  that  in  parting  moments  like  this,  as 
on  a  death-bed,  one  dares  to  speak  of  things  which  from 
some  sense  of  shame  one  had  never  dared  to  touch  on  before. 
Now,  I  want  to  carry  away  with  me  over  the  seas  the  thought 
that  your  lot  in  life  is  assured,  and  your  happiness,  so  far  as 
any  one's  can  be,  provided  for.  To  know  this,  I  must  force 
a  confidence  which  you  may  not  wish  to  accord  me ;  but  be- 
think you,  dear  May,  that  you  will  never  see  me  more.  Will 
you  tell  me  if  I  ask  about  him  ?  " 

"About  whom?"  asked  she,  in  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment, for  never  were  her  thoughts  less  directed  to  Alfred 
Lay  ton. 

"May,"  said  he,  almost  angrily,  "refuse  me  if  you 
will,  but  let  there  be  no  deceit  between  us.  I  spoke  of 
Lay  ton." 

"  Ask  what  you  please,  and  I  will  answer  you,"  said  she, 
boldly. 

"  He  is  your  lover,  is  he  not?  You  have  engaged  yourself 
to  him?" 

"  No." 

"  It  is  the  same  thing.  You  are  to  be  his  wife,  when  this, 
that,  or  t'other  happens?" 

"No." 


THE   PALAZZO   BALBI.  475 

"In  a  word,  if  there  be  no  compact,  there  is  an  under- 
standing between  you?'' 

"Once  more,  no!  "  said  she,  in  the  same  firm  voice. 

"Will  you  deny  that  you  have  received  letters  from  him, 
and  have  written  to  him  again?  " 

An  angry  flush  covered  the  girl's  cheek,  and  her  lip  trem- 
bled. For  an  instant  it  seemed  as  if  an  indignant  answer 
would  break  from  her;  but  she  repressed  the  impulse,  and 
coolly  said,  "There  is  no  need  to  deny  it.  I  have  done 
both." 

"I  knew  it,  —  I  knew  it!  "  cried  he,  in  a  bitter  exultation. 
"You  might  have  dealt  more  frankly  with  me,  or  might 
have  said,  '  I  am  in  no  wise  accountable  to  you.  I  recognize 
no  right  in  you  to  question  me.'  Had  you  done  this.  May, 
it  would  have  been  a  warning  to  me ;  but  to  say,  '  Ask  me 
freely,  I  will  tell  you  everything,'  — was  this  fair,  was  this 
honest,  was  it  true-hearted?" 

"And  yet  I  meant  it  for  such,"  said  she,  sorrowfully.  "I 
may  have  felt  a  passing  sense  of  displeasure  that  you 
should  have  heard  from  any  other  than  myself  of  this  corre- 
spondence ;  but  even  that  is  passed  away,  and  I  care  not  to 
learn  from  whom  you  heard  it.  I  have  written  as  many  as 
three  letters  to  Mr.  Lay  ton.  This  is  his  last  to  me."  She 
took  at  the  same  moment  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  and 
handed  it  towards  him. 

"  I  have  no  presumption  to  read  your  correspondence.  May 
Leslie,"  said  he,  red  with  shame  and  anger  together.  "Your 
asking  me  to  do  so  implies  a  rebuke  in  having  dared  to 
speak  on  the  subject,  but  it  is  for  the  last  time." 

"And  is  it  because  we  are  about  to  part,  Charles,  that  it 
must  be  in  anger?  "  said  she;  and  her  voice  faltered  and  her 
lip  trembled.  "Of  all  your  faults,  Charles,  selfishness  was 
not  one,  long  ago." 

"No  matter  what  I  was  long  ago;  we  have  both  lived 
to  see  great  changes  in  ourselves." 

"Come,  let  us  be  friends,"  said  she,  taking  his  hand  cor- 
diall3\  "I  know  not  how  it  is  with  you,  but  never  in  my 
life  did  I  need  a  friend  so  much." 

"Oh,  May,  how  can  I  serve  you?" 

"First  read  that  letter,  Charles.     Sit  down  there  and  read 


476  ONE   OF   THEM. 

it  through,  and  I  '11  come  back  to  you  by  the  time  you  've 
finished  it." 

With  a  sort  of  dogged  determination  to  sacrifice  himself, 
no  matter  at  what  cost,  Charles  Heathcote  took  the  letter 
from  her,  and  turned  away  into  another  alley  of  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  L. 

THREE    MET    AGAIN. 

When,  on  the  following  morning,  Charles  Heathcote  re- 
paired to  the  hotel  where  he  had  left  his  friend  Lord  Agin- 
coiirt,  he  was  surprised  to  hear  the  sound  of  voices  and 
laughter  as  he  drew  nigh  the  room;  nor  less  astonished  was 
he,  on  entering,  to  discover  O'Shea  seated  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  and  manifestly  in  the  process  of  enjoying  himself. 
Had  there  been  time  to  retire  undetected,  Heathcote  would 
have  done  so,  for  his  head  was  far  too  full  of  matters  of 
deep  interest  to  himself  to  desire  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
not  to  say  that  he  had  a  communication  to  make  to  his 
friend  both  delicate  and  difficult.  O'Shea's  quick  glance 
had,  however,  caught  him  at  once,  and  he  cried  out, 
"Here's  the  very  man  we  wanted  to  make  us  complete,  — 
the  jolliest  party  of  three  that  ever  sat  down  together." 

"I  scarcely  thought  to  see  you  in  these  parts,"  said 
Heathcote,  with  more  of  sulk  than  cordiality  in  the  tone. 

"Your  delight  ought  to  be  all  the  greater,  though,  maybe, 
it  is  n't!  You  look  as  glum  as  the  morning  I  won  your  trap 
and  the  two  nags." 

"By  the  way,  what  became  of  them?"  asked  Heathcote. 

"  I  sold  the  chestnut  to  a  young  cornet  in  the  Carabineers. 
He  saw  me  ride  him  through  all  the  bonfires  in  Sackville 
Street  the  night  the  mob  beat  the  police,  and  he  said  he 
never  saw  his  equal  to  face  fire;  and  he  was  n't  far  wrong 
there,  for  the  beast  was  stone  blind." 

"And  the  gray?  " 

"The  gray  is  here,  in  Rome,  and  in  top  condition;  and 
if  I  don't  take  him  over  five  feet  of  timber,  my  name  isn't 
Gorman."  A  quick  wink  and  a  sly  look  towards  Agincourt 
conveyed  to  Heathcote  the  full  meaning  of  this  speech. 

"And  you  want  a  high  figure  for  him?"  asked  he. 


478  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"If  I  sell  him,  — if  I  sell  him  at  all;  for  you  see,  if  the 
world  goes  well  with  me,  and  I  have  a  trump  or  two  in  my 
hand,  I  won't  part  with  that  horse.  It 's  not  every  day  in 
the  week  that  you  chance  on  a  beast  that  can  carry  fifteen 
stone  over  a  stiff  country,  —  ay,  and  do  it  four  days  in  the 
fortnight!  " 

"What's  his  price?"  asked  Agincourt. 

"Let  him  tell  you,"  said  O'Shea,  with  a  most  expressive 
look  at  Heathcote.  "  He  knows  him  as  well  or  better  than 
I  do." 

"Yes,"  said  Heathcote,  tantalizing  him  on  purpose;  "but 
when  a  man  sets  out  by  saying,  '  I  don't  want  to  sell  my 
horse, '  of  course  it  means,  '  If  you  will  have  him,  you  must 
pay  a  fancy  price.'  " 

If  O'Shea's  expression  could  be  rendered  in  words,  it 
might  be  read  thus:  "And  if  that  be  the  very  game  I'm 
playing,  ain't  you  a  downright  idiot  to  spoil  it?  " 

"Well,"  said  Agincourt,  after  a  pause,  "I  'm  just  in  the 
sort  of  humor  this  morning  to  do  an  extravagant  thing,  or 
a  silly  one." 

"Lucky  fellow!  "  broke  in  Heathcote,  "for  O'Shea's  the 
very  man  to  assist  you  to  your  project." 

"I  am!"  said  O'Shea,  firmly  and  quickly;  "for  there's 
not  the  man  living  has  scattered  his  money  more  freely 
than  myself.  Before  I  came  of  age,  when  I  was  just  a  slip 
of  a  boy,  about  nineteen  —  " 

"Never  mind  the  anecdote,  old  fellow,"  said  Heathcote, 
laughingly,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder. 
"Agincourt  has  just  confessed  himself  in  the  frame  of  mind 
to  be  '  done.'  Do  him,  therefore,  by  all  means.  Say  a 
hundred  and  fifty  for  the  nag,  and  he  '11  give  it,  and  keep 
your  good  story  for  another  roguery." 

"Isn't  he  polite?  —  isn't  he  a  young  man  of  charming 
manners  and  elegant  address?  "  said  O'Shea,  with  a  strange 
mixture  of  drollery  and  displeasure. 

"He's  right,  at  all  events,"  said  Agincourt,  laughing  at 
the  other's  face;  "he's  right  as  regards  me.  I'll  give  you 
a  hundred  and  fifty  for  the  horse  without  seeing  him." 

"Oh,  mother  of  Moses!  I  wish  your  guardian  was  like 
you." 


THREE   MET  AGAIN.  479 

"Why  so?     What  do  you  mean?  " 

"I  mean  this,  — that  I  wish  he'd  buy  me,  too,  without 
seeing  me!"  And  then,  seeing  that  by  their  blank  looks 
they  had  failed  to  catch  his  meaning,  he  added,  ''Is  n't  he 
one  of  the  Cabinet  now?" 

"Yes,  he  is  Colonial  Secretary." 

'•That's  the  very  fellow  I  want.  He's  giving  away 
things  every  day,  that  any  one  of  them  would  be  the  making 
of  me." 

"What  would  you  take?" 

'•Whatever  I  'd  get.  There  's  my  answer,  whatever  I  'd 
get.  I  'd  be  a  Bishop,  or  a  Judge,  or  a  boundary  Com- 
missioner, or  a  Treasurer,  —  I  'd  like  to  be  that  best,  —  or 
anything  in  reason  they  could  offer  a  man  of  good  family, 
and  who  had  a  seat  in  the  House." 

"I  think  3'ou  might  get  him  something;  I'm  sui-e  you 
might,"  said  Heathcote. 

"Well,  I  can  try,  at  all  events.     I'll  write  to-day." 

"Will  you  really?" 

"I  give  you  my  word  on  it.  I  '11  say  that,  independently 
of  all  personal  claims  of  your  own,  you  're  an  intimate  and 
old  friend,  whose  advancement  I  will  accept  as  a  favor  done 
to  myself." 

"That 's  the  ticket.  But  mind  no  examination,  —  no 
going  before  the  Civil  Service  chaps.  I  tell  you  fairly,  I 
would  n't  take  the  Governor-Generalship  of  India  if  I  had 
to  go  up  for  the  multiplication-ta.ble.  I  think  I  see  myself 
sitting  trembling  before  them,  one  fellow  asking  me,  '  Who 
invented  "pitch  and  toss"?'  and  another  inquiring  '  Who 
was  the  first  man  ever  took  pepper  with  oysters? '  " 

"Leave  all  that  to  Agincourt,"  said  Heathcote;  "he'll 
explain  to  his  guardian  that  you  were  for  several  sessions  a 
distinguished  member  of  the  House  —  " 

"'Twas  I  that  brought  '  crowing  '  in.  I  used  to  crow 
like  a  cock  when  old  Sibthorp  got  up,  and  set  them  all  off 
laughing." 

"I  '11  mention  your  public  services  —  " 

"And  don't  say  that  I  'm  hard  up.  Don't  make  it  appear 
that  it 's  because  I  'm  out  at  the  elbows  I  'm  going,  but  just 
a  whim,  —  the  way  Gladstone  went  to  Greece  the  other  day ; 


480  ONE   OF  THEM. 

that 's  the  real  dodge,  for  they  keep  the  Scripture  in  mind 
up  in  Downing  Street,  and  it's  always  the  '  poor  they  send 
empty  away.'  " 

"And  you'll  dine  with  us  here,  at  seven?"  said  Agin- 
court,  rising  from  the  table. 

"That 's  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Cut  your  lucky  now,  Gor- 
man; we  don't  want  you  till  dinner-time.'  " 

"You  forget  that  he  has  got  the  letter  to  write  about 
you,"  said  Heathcote.  "You  don't  want  him  to  lose  a 
post?" 

"  And  the  gray  horse  ?  " 

"He  's  mine;  I  've  bought  him." 

"I  suppose  you  've  no  objection  to  my  taking  a  canter  on 
him  this  morning  ?  " 

"Ride  him,  by  all  means,"  said  Agincourt,  shaking  his 
hand  cordially  while  he  said  adieu. 

"Why  did  you  ask  him  to  dinner  to-day?  "  said  Heathcote, 
peevishly.  "I  wanted  you  to  have  come  over  and  dined 
with  us.     My  father  is  eager  to  see  you,  and  so  is  May." 

"Let  us  go  to  tea,  then.  And  how  are  they?  —  how  is  he 
looking?" 

"  Broken,  —  greatly  broken.  I  was  shocked  beyond  meas- 
ure to  see  him  so  much  aged  since  we  met,  and  his  spirits 
gone,  —  utterly  gone. " 

"Whence  is  all  this?" 

"He  says  that  I  deserted  him,  — that  he  was  forsaken." 

"And  is  he  altogether  wrong,  Charley?  Does  not  con- 
science prick  you  on  that  score?  " 

"  He  says,  too,  that  I  have  treated  May  as  cruelly  and  as 
unjustly ;  also,  that  I  have  broken  up  their  once  happy  home. 
In  fact,  he  lays  all  at  my  door." 

"And  have  you  seen  her?" 

"Yes,  we  had  a  meeting  last  night,  and  a  long  talk  this 
morning ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  about  that  I  wanted  to  speak 
to  you  when  I  found  O'Shea  here.  Confound  the  fellow! 
he  has  made  the  thing  more  ditBcult  than  ever,  for  I  have 
quite  forgotten  how  I  had  planned  it  all." 

"Planned  it  all!  Surely  there  was  no  need  of  a  plan, 
Charley,  in  anything  that  you  meant  to  say  to  me?  " 

"Yes,  but  there  was,  though.     You  have  very  often  piqued 


THREE   MET  AGAIN.  481 

me  by  saying  that  I  never  knew  my  own  mind  from  one  day 
to  auotlier,  that  you  were  always  prepared  for  some  change 
of  intention  in  me,  and  that  nothing  would  surprise  you  less 
than  that  I  should  '  throw  you  over  '  the  very  day  before  we 
were  to  sail  for  India." 

"Was  I  very,  very  unjust,  Charley?"  said  he,  kindly. 

"/  think  you  were,  and  for  this  reason:  he  who  is  master 
of  his  own  fate,  so  far  as  personal  freedom  and  ample  for- 
tune can  make  him,  ought  not  to  judge  rashly  of  the  doubts 
and  vacillations  and  ever  changing  purposes  of  him  who 
has  to  weigh  fifty  conflicting  influences.  The  one  sufficiently 
strong  to  sway  others  may  easily  take  his  line  and  follow 
it;  the  other  is  the  slave  of  any  incident  of  the  hour,  and 
must  be  content  to  accept  events,  and  not  mould  them." 

"I  read  it  all,  Charley.     You  '11  not  go  out? " 

"I  will  not." 

Agincourt  repressed  the  smile  that  was  fast  gathering  on 
his  lips,  and,  in  a  grave  and  quiet  voice,  said,  "And  why?" 

"For  the  very  reason  you  have  so  often  given  me.  She 
cares  for  me ;  she  has  told  me  so  herself,  and  even  asked  me 
not  to  leave  them !  I  explained  to  her  that  I  had  given  you 
not  only  a  promise,  but  a  pledge,  that,  unless  you  released 
me,  1  was  bound  in  honor  to  accompany  you.  She  said, 
'  "Will  you  leave  this  part  of  the  matter  to  me  ?  '  and  I  an- 
swered, '  No,  I'll  go  frankly  to  him,  and  say,  "I'm  going 
to  break  my  word  with  you :  I  have  to  choose  between  May 
Leslie  and  you,  and  I  vote  for  her."  '  " 

"What  a  deal  of  self-sacrifice  it  might  have  saved  you, 
Charley,"  said  he,  laughing,  "had  you  seen  this  telegram 
which  came  when  I  had  sat  down  to  breakfast."  It  came 
from  the  Horse  Guards,  sent  by  some  private  friend  of  Agin- 
court's,  and  was  in  these  words:  "The  row  is  over,  no  more 
drafts  for  India,  do  not  go." 

Heathcote  read  and  re-read  the  paper  for  sevei-al  minutes. 
"So,  then,  for  once  I  have  luck  on  my  side.  My  resolve 
neither  wounds  a  friend  nor  hurts  my  own  self-esteem.  Of 
course  you  '11  not  go?  " 

"Certainly  not.  I  '11  not  go  out  to  hunt  the  lame  ducks 
that  others  have  wounded." 

"You  '11  let  me  take  this  and  show  it  to  my  father,"  said 
31 


482  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Heathcote.  "He  shall  learn  the  real  reason  of  my  stay 
hereafter,  but  for  the  present  this  will  serve  to  make  him 
happy;  and  poor  May,  too,  will  be  spared  the  pain  of 
thinking  that  in  yielding  to  her  wish  I  have  jeopardized  a 
true  friendship.  I  can  scarcely  believe  all  this  happiness 
real,  Agincourt.  After  so  long  a  turn  of  gloom  and  despon- 
dency, I  cannot  trust  myself  to  think  that  fortune  means  so 
kindly  by  me.  Were  it  not  for  one  unhappy  thought, —  one 
only,  —  I  could  say  I  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for," 

"And  what  is  that?  —  Is  it  anything  in  which  I  can  be 
of  service  to  you  ?  " 

"No,  my  dear  fellow;  if  it  were,  I'd  never  have  said  it 
was  a  cause  for  sorrow.  It  is  a  case,  however,  equally 
removed  from  your  help  as  from  mine.  I  told  you  some 
time  back  that  my  father,  yielding  to  a  game  of  cleverly 
played  intrigue,  had  determined  to  marry  this  widow,  Mrs. 
Penthony  Morris,  whom  you  remember.  So  long  as  the 
question  was  merely  mooted  in  gossip,  I  could  not  allude  to 
it;  but  when  he  wrote  himself  to  me  on  the  subject,  I  remon- 
strated with  him  as  temperately  as  I  was  able.  I  adverted 
to  their  disproportion  of  age,  their  dissimilarity  of  habits; 
and,  lastly,  I  spoke  out  and  told  him  that  we  knew  nothing, 
any  of  us,  of  this  lady,  her  family,  friends,  or  connections; 
that  though  I  had  inquired  widely,  I  never  met  the  man 
who  could  give  me  any  information  about  her,  or  had  ever 
heard  of  her  husband.  I  wrote  all  this,  and  much  more  of 
the  same  kind,  in  the  strain  of  frank  confidence  a  son  might 
employ  towards  his  father,  particularly  when  they  had  long 
lived  together  in  relations  of  the  dearest  and  closest  affec- 
tion. I  waited  eagerly  for  his  answer.  Some  weeks  went 
over,  and  then  there  came  a  letter,  not  from  him,  but  from 
her.  The  whole  mischief  was  out:  he  had  given  her  my 
letter,  and  said,  '  Answer  it. '  I  will  show  you  her  epistle 
one  of  these  days.  It  is  really  clever.  There  was  n't  a 
word  of  reproach,  —  not  an  angry  syllable  in  the  whole  of  it. 
She  was  pained,  fretted,  deeply  fretted  by  what  I  had  written, 
but  she  acknowledged  that  I  had,  if  I  liked  to  indulge  them, 
reasonable  grounds  for  all  my  distrusts,  though,  perhaps,  it 
might  have  been  more  generous  to  oppose  them.  At  first, 
she  said,  she  had  resolved  to  satisfy  all  my  doubts  by  the 


THREE  MET  AGAIN.  483 

names  and  circumstances  of  her  connections,  with  every 
detail  of  family  history  and  fortune;  but,  on  second 
thoughts,  her  pride  revolted  against  a  step  so  offensive  to 
personal  dignity,  and  she  had  made  up  her  mind  to  confine 
these  revelations  to  my  father,  and  then  leave  his  roof 
forever.  'Writing,'  continued  she,  'as  I  now  do,  without 
his  knowledge  of  what  I  say,  —  for,  with  a  generous  confi- 
dence in  me  that  I  regret  is  not  felt  in  other  quarters,  he 
has  refused  to  read  my  letter,  —  1  may  tell  you  that  I  shall 
place  my  change  of  purpose  on  such  grounds  as  can  never 
possibly  endanger  your  future  relations  with  your  father. 
He  shall  never  suspect,  in  fact,  from  anything  in  my  con- 
duct, that  my  departure  was  influenced  in  the  slightest  degree 
by  what  has  fallen  from  you.  The  reasons  I  will  give  him 
for  my  step  will  refer  solely  to  circumstances  that  refer  to 
myself.  Go  back,  therefore,  in  all  confidence  and  love,  and 
give  yoiu"  whole  affection  to  one  who  needs  and  who  de- 
serves it ! ' 

"There  was,  perhaps,  a  slight  tendency  to  dilate  upon 
what  ought  to  constitute  my  duties  and  regards;  but,  on 
the  whole,  the  letter  was  well  written  and  wonderfully  dis- 
passionate. I  was  sorely  puzzled  how  to  answer  it,  or  what 
course  to  take,  and  might  have  been  more  so,  when  my  mind 
was  relieved  by  a  most  angry  epistle  from  my  father,  accus- 
ing me  roundly,  not  only  of  having  wilfully  forsaken  him, 
but  having  heartlessly  insulted  the  very  few  who  compassion- 
ated his  lonely  lot,  and  were  even  ready  to  share  it. 

"This  ended  our  correspondence,  and  I  never  wrote  again 
till  I  mentioned  my  approaching  departure  for  India,  and 
offered,  if  he  wished  it,  to  take  Italy  on  my  way  and  see 
him  once  more  before  I  went.  To  this  there  came  the  kind- 
est answer,  entreating  me  to  come  and  pass  as  many  days 
as  I  could  with  him.  It  was  all  affection,  but  evidently 
written  in  great  depression  of  mind  and  spirits.  There 
were  three  lines  of  a  postscript,  signed  '  Louisa,'  assuring 
me  that  none  more  anxiously  looked  forward  to  my  visit 
than  herself ;  that  she  had  a  pardon  to  crave  of  me,  and 
would  far  rather  sue  for  it  in  person  than  on  paper.  '  As 
you  are  coming,'  said  she,  '  I  will  say  no  more,  for  when 
you  do  come  you  will  both  pity  and  forgive  me.'  " 


484  ONE  OF  THEM. 

As  Heathcote  had  just  finished  the  last  word,  the  door  of 
the  room  was  quietly  opened,  and  O'Shea  peeped  in.  "Are 
you  at  the  letter?  for,  if  you  are,  you  might  as  well  say, 
'  Mr.  Gorman  O'Shea  was  never  violent  in  his  politics,  but 
one  of  those  who  always  relied  upon  the  good  faith  and  good 
will  of  England  towards  his  countrymen.'  That 's  a  sen- 
tence the  Whigs  delight  in,  and  I  remark  it 's  the  sure  sign 
of  a  good  berth." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  '11  book  it;  don't  be  afraid,"  said  Agincourt, 
laughing;  and  the  late  member  for  Inch  retired,  fully  satis- 
fied.    "Go  on,  Charley;  tell  me  the  remainder." 

"There  is  no  more  to  tell;  you  have  heard  all.  Since  I 
arrived  I  have  not  seen  her.  She  has  been  for  two  days 
confined  to  bed  with  a  feverish  cold,  and,  apprehending 
something  contagious,  she  wiU  not  let  May  visit  her.  I 
believe,  however,  it  is  a  mere  passing  illness,  and  I  suppose 
that  to-morrow  or  next  day  we  shall  meet." 

"And  how?  for  that,  I  own,  is  a  matter  would  puzzle  me 
considerably." 

"It  will  all  depend  upon  her.  She  must  give  the  key-note 
to  the  concert.  If  she  please  to  be  very  courteous  and 
affable,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  talk  generalities  and  avoid  all 
questions  of  real  interest,  I  must  accept  that  tone,  and  fol- 
low it.  If  she  be  disposed  to  enter  upon  private  and  per- 
sonal details,  I  have  only  to  be  a  listener,  except  she  give 
me  an  opportunity  to  speak  out  regarding  the  marriage." 
,     "And  you  will?" 

"That  I  will.  I  suspect,  shrewdly,  that  she  is  mistaken 
about  our  circumstances,  and  confounds  May  Leslie's  means 
with  ours.  Now,  when  she  knows  that  my  father  has  about 
five  hundred  a  year  in  the  world  for  everything,  it  is  just 
possible  that  she  may  rue  her  bargain,  and  cry  '  off. '  " 

"Scarcely,  I  think,"  said  Agincourt.  "The  marriage 
would  give  her  station  and  place  at  once,  if  she  wants 
them." 

"What  if  O'Shea  were  to  supplant  Sir  William?  I  half 
suspect  he  would  succeed.  He  has  n't  a  sixpence.  It 's 
exactly  his  own  beat  to  find  some  one  willing  to  support 
him." 

"Well,  I  '11  back  myself  to  get  him  a  place.     I  '11  not  say 


THREE  MET  AGAIN.  485 

it  will  be  anything  very  splendid  or  lucrative,  but  some- 
thing he  shall  have.  Come,  Charley,  leave  this  to  me. 
Let  O'Shea  and  myself  dine  tete-a-tete  to-day,  and  I  '11 
contrive  to  sound  him  on  it." 

"I  mean  to  aid  you  so  far,  for  I  know  my  father  would 
take  it  ill  were  I  to  dine  away  from  home,  — on  the  first  day 
too ;  but  I  own  I  have  no  great  confidence  in  your  plan,  nor 
any  unbounded  reliance  on  your  diplomacy." 

"No  matter,  I'll  try  it;  and,  to  begin,  I'll  start  at  once 
with  a  letter  to  Downing  Street.  I  have  never  asked  for 
anything  yet,  so  I  '11  write  like  one  who  cannot  contemplate 
a  refusal." 

"I  wish  you  success,  for  all  our  sakes,"  said  Charles; 
and  left  him. 


END  OF  VOL.  I. 


ONE   OF  THEM. 


VOLUME   II. 


ONE   OF    THEM. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    LONE   VILLA    ON   THE    CAMPAGNA. 

About  half-way  between  Rome  and  Albano,  and  something 
more  than  a  mile  off  the  high-road,  there  stands  on  a  little 
swell  of  the  Campagna  a  ruined  villa,  inhabited  by  a  humble 
family  of  peasants,  who  aid  their  scanty  means  of  support 
by  showing  to  strangers  the  view  from  the  house-top.  It  is 
not,  save  for  its  extent,  a  prospect  in  any  way  remarkable. 
Rome  itself,  in  the  distance,  is  not  seen  in  its  most  impos- 
ing aspect,  and  the  Campagna  offers  little  on  which  the  eye 
cares  to  rest  long. 

The  "Villa  of  the  Four  Winds,"  however,  is  a  place 
sought  by  tourists,  and  few  leave  Rome  without  a  visit  to 
it.  These  are,  of  course,  the  excursions  of  fine  days  in  the 
fine  season,  and  never  occur  during  the  dark  and  gloomy 
months  of  midwinter.  It  was  now  such  a  time.  The  wind 
tore  across  the  bleak  plain,  carrying  fitful  showers  of  cold 
rain,  driving  cattle  to  their  shelter,  and  sending  all  to  seek  a 
refuge  within  doors;  and  yet  a  carriage  was  to  be  seen  toil- 
ing painfully  through  the  deep  clay  of  the  by-road  which  led 
from  the  main  line,  and  making  for  the  villa.  After  many 
a  rugged  shake  and  shock,  many  a  struggling  effort  of  the 
weary  beasts,  and  many  a  halt,  it  at  length  reached  the  little 
paved  courtyard,  and  was  speedily  surrounded  by  the  aston- 
ished peasants,  curious  to  see  the  traveller  whose  zeal  for 
the  picturesque  could  bid  defiance  to  such  weather. 


490  ONE   OF   THEM. 

As  the  steps  were  let  down,  a  lady  got  out,  muffled  in  a 
large  cloak,  and  wearing  the  hood  over  her  head,  and  hastily 
passed  into  the  little  kitchen  of  the  house.  Scarcely  had 
she  entered,  than,  throwing  off  her  cloak,  she  said,  in  a  gay 
and  easy  voice,  "I  have  often  promised  myself  a  visit  to 
the  villa  when  there  would  be  a  grand  storm  to  look  at. 
Don't  you  think  that  I  have  hit  on  the  day  to  keep  my 
pledge  ? "  The  speech  was  made  so  frankly  that  it  pleased 
the  hearers,  nowise  surprised,  besides,  at  any  eccentricity 
on  the  part  of  strangers ;  and  now  the  family,  young  and  old, 
gathered  around  the  visitor,  and  talked,  and  questioned,  and 
admired  her  dress  and  her  appearance,  and  told  her  so,  too, 
with  a  pleasant  candor  not  displeasing.  They  saw  she  was 
a  stranger,  but  knew  not  from  where.  Her  accent  was  not 
Roman;  they  knew  no  more;  nor  did  she  give  much  time 
for  speculating,  as  she  contrived  to  make  herself  at  home 
amongst  them  by  ingratiating  herself  imperceptibly  into  the 
good  graces  of  each  present,  from  the  gray-headed  man  to 
whom  she  discoursed  of  cattle  and  their  winter  food,  to  the 
little  toddling  infant,  who  would  insist  upon  being  held 
upon  her  lap. 

The  day  went  on,  and  yet  never  a  lull  came  in  the  storm 
that  permitted  a  visit  to  the  roof  to  see  the  lightning  that 
played  along  the  distant  horizon.  She  betrayed  no  impa- 
tience, however;  she  laughingly  said  she  was  very  comfort- 
able at  the  fireside,  and  could  afford  to  wait.  She  expected 
her  brother,  it  is  true,  to  have  met  her  there,  and  more  than 
once  despatched  a  messenger  to  the  door  to  see  if  he  could 
not  descry  a  horseman  on  the  high-road.  The  same  answer 
came  always  back :  nothing  to  be  seen  for  miles  round. 

"Well,"  said  she,  good-humoredly,  "you  must  give  me  a 
share  of  your  dinner,  for  my  drive  has  given  me  an  appetite, 
and  I  will  still  wait  here  another  hour." 

It  would  have  made  a  pleasing  picture  as  she  sat  there, 
—  her  fair  and  beautiful  features  graced  with  that  indescrib- 
able charm  of  expression  imparted  by  the  wish  to  please  in 
those  who  have  made  the  art  to  please  their  study ;  to  have 
seen  her  surrounded  by  those  bronzed  and  seared  and  care- 
worn looks,  now  brightened  up  by  the  charm  of  a  spell  that 
had   often  worked   its   power  on  their  superiors;  to   have 


THE   LONE   VILLA   ON  THE   CAMPAGNA.  491 

marked  how  delicately  she  initiated  herself  into  their  little 
ways,  and  how  marvellously  the  captivation  of  her  gentle- 
ness spread  its  influence  over  them.  In  their  simple  piety 
they  likened  her  to  the  image  of  all  that  embodies  beauty  to 
their  eyes,  and  murmured  to  each  other  that  she  was  like  the 
Madonna.  A  cruel  interruption  to  their  quiet  rapture  was 
now  given  by  the  clattering  sound  of  a  horse's  feet,  and, 
immediately  after,  the  entrance  of  a  man  drenched  to  the 
skin,  and  dripping  from  the  storm.  After  a  few  hasty  words 
of  greeting,  the  strangers  ascended  the  stairs,  and  were 
shown  into  a  little  room,  scantily  furnished,  but  from  which 
the  view  they  were  supposed  to  come  for  could  be  obtained. 

"What  devotion  to  come  out  in  such  weather!  "  said  she, 
when  they  were  alone.  "It  is  only  an  Irishman,  and  that 
Irishman  the  O'Shea,  could  be  capable  of  this  heroism." 

"It 's  all  very  nice  making  fun  of  a  man  when  he  's  stand- 
ing like  a  soaked  sponge,"  said  he;  "but  I  tell  you  what, 
Mrs.  Morris,  the  devil  a  Saxon  would  do  it.  It 's  not  in 
them  to  risk  a  sore-throat  or  a  pain  in  the  back  for  the 
prettiest  woman  that  ever  stepped." 

"I  have  just  said  so,  but  not  so  emphatically,  perhaps; 
and,  what  is  more,  I  feel  all  the  force  of  the  homage  as  I 
look  at  you." 

"Well,  laugh  away,"  said  he.  "When  a  woman  has 
pretty  teeth  or  good  legs,  she  does  n't  want  much  provoca- 
tion to  show  them.  But  if  we  are  to  stay  any  time  here, 
could  n't  we  have  a  bit  of  fire?  " 

"You  shall  come  down  to  the  kitchen  presently,  and  have 
both  food  and  fire;  for  I'm  sure  there's  something  left, 
though  we  've  just  dined." 

"Dined?  —  where?  " 

"Well,  eaten,  if  you  like  the  word  better;  and  perhaps  it 
is  the  more  fitting  phrase.  I  took  my  plate  amongst  these 
poor  people,  and  I  assure  you  there  was  a  carrot  soup  by  no 
means  bad.  Sir  William's  r/ic/ would  have  probably  taken 
exception  to  the  garlic,  which  was  somewhat  in  excess,  and 
there  was  a  fishy  flavor,  also  slightly  objectionable.  They 
called  it  '  baccala.'  " 

"Faith,  you  beat  me  entirely!"  exclaimed  O'Shea.  "I 
can't  make  you  out  at  all,  at  all." 


492  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"I  assure  you,"  resumed  she,  "it  was  quite  refreshing  to 
dine  with  people  who  ate  heartily,  and  never  said  an  ill 
word  of  their  neighbors.  I  regret  very  much  that  you  were 
not  of  the  party." 

"Thanks  for  the  politeness,  but  I  don't  exactly  concur 
with  the  regret." 

"I  see  that  this  wetting  has  spoiled  your  temper.  It  is 
most  unfortunate  for  me  that  the  weather  should  have  broken 
just  as  I  wanted  you  to  be  in  the  very  best  of  humors,  and 
with  the  most  ardent  desire  to  serve  me." 

If  she  began  this  speech  in  a  light  and  volatile  tone,  be- 
fore she  had  finished  it  her  manner  was  grave  and  earnest. 

"Here  I  am,  ready  and  willing,"  said  he,  quickly.  "Only 
say  the  word,  and  see  if  I  'm  not  as  good  as  my  promise." 

She  took  two  or  three  turns  of  the  room  without  speaking; 
then  wheeling  round  suddenly,  she  stood  right  in  front  of 
where  he  sat,  her  face  pale,  and  her  whole  expression  that 
of  one  deeply  occupied  with  one  purpose. 

"I  don't  believe,"  said  she,  in  a  slow,  collected  voice, 
"  that  there  exists  a  more  painful  position  than  that  of  a 
woman  who,  without  what  the  world  calls  a  natural  protector, 
must  confront  the  schemes  of  a  man  with  the  inferior  weap- 
ons of  her  sex,  and  who  yet  yearns  for  the  privilege  of  set- 
ting a  life  against  a  life." 

"You  'd  like  to  be  able  to  fight  a  duel,  then?  "  asked  he, 
gravely. 

"Yes.  That  my  own  hand  might  vindicate  my  own 
wrong,  I  'd  consent  freely  to  lose  it  the  hour  after." 

"That  must  needs  have  been  no  slight  injury  that  suggests 
such  a  reparation." 

She  only  nodded  in  reply. 

"It  is  nothing  that  the  Heathcotes  —  " 

"  The  Heathcotes !  "  broke  she  in,  with  a  scornful  smile ; 
"it  is  not  from  such  come  heavy  wrongs.  No,  no;  they  are 
in  no  wise  mixed  up  in  what  I  allude  to,  and  if  they  had 
been,  I  would  need  no  help  to  deal  with  them.  The  injury 
I  speak  of  occurred  long  ago,  —  years  before  I  knew  you. 
I  have  told  you,"  —  here  she  paused,  as  if  for  strength  to 
go  on,  — "I  have  told  you  that  I  accept  your  aid,  and  on 
your  own  conditions.     Very  few  words  will  suffice  to  show 


THE   LOXE   VILLA  ON  THE   CAMPAGNA.  493 

for  what  I  need  it.  Before  I  go  further,  however,  I  would 
ask  you  once  more,  are  you  ready  to  meet  any  and  every 
peril  for  my  sake?  Are  you  prepared  to  encounter  what 
may  risk  even  your  life,  if  called  upon  ?  I  ask  this  now, 
and  with  the  firm  assurance  that  if  you  pledge  your  word 
you  will  keep  it." 

"  I  give  you  my  solemn  oath  that  I'll  stand  by  you,  if  it 
lead  me  to  the  drop  before  the  jail." 

She  gave  a  slight  shudder.  Some  old  memories  had,  per- 
haps, crossed  her  at  the  moment ;  but  she  was  soon  self- 
possessed  again. 

'•  The  case  is  briefly  this.  And  mind,"  said  she,  hurriedly, 
"  where  I  do  not  seem  to  give  you  full  details,  or  enter  into 
clear  explanations,  it  is  not  from  inadvertence  that  I  do 
so,  but  that  I  will  tell  no  more  than  I  wish,  nor  will  I  be 
questioned.  The  case  is  this :  I  was  married  unhappily.  I 
lived  with  a  man  who  outraged  and  insulted  me,  and  I  met 
with  one  who  assumed  to  pity  me  and  take  my  part.  I  con- 
fided to  him  my  miseries,  the  more  freely  that  he  had  been 
the  witness  of  the  cruelties  I  endured.  He  took  advantage 
of  the  confidence  to  make  advances  to  me.  My  heart  —  if  I 
had  a  heart  —  would  not  have  been  difficult  to  win.  It  was  a 
theft  not  worth  guarding  against.  Somehow,  I  cannot  say 
wherefore,  this  man  was  odious  to  me,  more  odious  than  the 
very  tyrant  who  trampled  on  me  ;  but  I  had  sold  myself  for  a 
vengeance,  —  yes,  as  completely  as  if  the  devil  had  drawn 
up  the  bond  and  I  had  signed  it.  My  pact  with  myself  was 
to  be  revenged  on  him,  come  what  might  afterwards.  I  have 
told  you  that  I  hated  this  man ;  but  I  had  no  choice.  The 
whole  wide  world  was  there,  and  not  another  in  it  had  ever 
offered  to  be  my  defender ;  nor,  indeed,  did  he.  No,  the 
creature  was  a  coward ;  he  only  promised  that  if  he  found 
me  as  a  waif  he  would  shelter  me  ;  he  was  too  cautious  to  risk 
a  finger  in  my  cause,  and  would  only  claim  what  none  dis- 
puted with  him.  And  I  was  abject  enough  to  be  content  with 
that,  to  be  grateful  for  it,  to  write  letters  full  of  more  than 
gratitude,  protesting —  Oh,  spare  me!  if  even  yet  I  have 
shame  to  make  me  unable  to  repeat  what,  in  ni}'  madness,  I 
may  have  said  to  him.  I  thought  I  could  go  on  throughout 
it  all,  but  I  cannot.      Tlie  end  was,  my  husband  died  ;  yes  ! 


494  ONE   OF  THEM. 

he  was  dead !  and  this  mau  —  who  I  know,  for  I  have  the 
proofs,  had  shown  my  letters  to  my  husband  —  claimed  me 
in  marriage  ;  he  insisted  that  I  should  be  his  wife,  or  meet  all 
the  shame  and  exposure  of  seeing  my  letters  printed  and  cir- 
culated through  the  world,  with  the  story  of  my  life  annexed. 
I  refused,  fled  from  England,  concealed  myself,  changed  my 
name,  and  did  everything  I  could  to  escape  discovery ;  but 
in  vain.  He  found  me  out ;  he  is  now  upon  my  track  ;  he 
will  be  here  —  here,  at  Rome  —  within  the  week,  and,  with 
these  letters  in  his  hand,  repeat  his  threat,  he  says,  for  the 
last  time,  and  I  believe  him."  The  strength  which  had  sus- 
tained her  up  to  this  now  gave  way,  and  she  sank  heavily  to 
the  ground,  like  one  stricken  by  a  fit.  It  was  some  time  be- 
fore she  rallied  ;  for  O'Shea,  fearful  of  any  exposure,  had  not 
called  others  to  his  aid,  but,  opening  the  window,  suffered 
the  rude  wind  to  blow  over  her  face  and  temples.  "  There, 
there,"  said  she,  smiling  sadly,  "it  is  but  seldom  I  show  so 
poor  a  spirit,  but  I  am  somewhat  broken  of  late.  Leave  me 
to  rest  my  head  on  this  chair,  and  do  not  lift  me  from  the 
ground  yet.  I  '11  be  better  presently.  Have  I  cut  my  fore- 
head ? " 

"  It  is  but  a  slight  scratch.  You  struck  the  foot  of  the 
table  in  your  fall." 

"  There,"  said  she,  making  a  mark  with  the  blood  on  his 
wrist,  "it  is  thus  the  Arabs  register  the  fidelity  of  him  who 
is  to  avenge  them.     You  will  not  fail  me,  will  you?  " 

"Never,  by  this  hand!"  cried  he,  holding  it  up  firmly 
clenched  over  his  head. 

"  It 's  the  Arab's  faith,  that  if  he  wash  away  the  stain  be- 
fore the  depth  of  vengeance  is  acquitted,  he  is  dishonored ; 
there's  a  rude  chivalry  in  the  notion  that  I  like  well."  She 
said  this  in  his  ear  as  he  raised  her  from  the  ground  and 
placed  her  on  a  chair.  "It  is  time  you  should  know  his 
name,"  said  she,  after  a  few  minutes'  pause.  "  He  is  called 
Ludlow  Paten.     I  believe  he  is  Captain  Paten  about  town." 

"  I  know  him  by  repute.  He  's  a  sort  of  swell  at  the  West- 
End  play  clubs.     He  is  amongst  all  the  fast  men." 

"  Oh,  he  's  fashionable,  —  he  's  very  fashionable." 

"  I  have  heard  him  talked  of  scores  of  times  as  one  of  the 
pleasantest  fellows  to  be  met  with." 


THE  LONE   VILLA   ON  THE   CAMPAGNA.  495 

"  I  'm  certain  of  it.  I  feel  assured  that  he  must  be  a 
cheerful  compauiou,  aud  reasonably  honest  and  loyal  in 
his  dealings  with  man.  He  is  of  a  class  that  reserve  all 
their  treachery  and  all  their  baseness  for  where  they  can 
be  safely  practised ;  and,  strange  enough,  men  of  honor 
know  these  things,  —  men  of  unquestionable  honor  associate 
freely  with  fellows  of  this  stamp,  as  if  the  wrong  done  to 
a  woman  was  a  venial  offence,  if  offence  at  all." 

''  The  way  of  the  world,"  said  O'Shea,  with  a  half  sigh. 

"  Pleasant  philosophy  that  so  easily  accounts  for  every 
baseness  and  even  villany  by  showing  that  they  are  popu- 
lar. But  come,  let  us  be  practical.  What 's  to  be  done 
here  ?  —  what  do  you  suggest  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  right  to  deal  with  him,  and  leave  the  settle- 
ment to  me." 

"The  right  —  that  is  —  "  She  hesitated,  flushed  up  for 
an  instant,  and  then  grew  lividly  pale  again. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  taking  his  place  at  her  side,  and  leaning 
an  arm  on  the  back  of  her  chair,  '■!  thought  I  never  saw 
your  equal  when  you  were  gay  and  light-hearted,  and  full  of 
spirits ;  but  I  like  you  better,  far  better  now,  and  I  'd  rather 
face  the  world  with  you  than  —  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  deceive  you,"  said  she,  hurriedly,  and 
her  lips  quivered  as  she  spoke ;  "  but  there  are  things  which 
I  cannot  tell  you,  —  things  of  which  I  could  not  speak  to  any 
one,  least  of  all  to  him  who  says  he  is  willing  to  share  his 
fate  with  me.  It  is  a  hard  condition  to  make,  and  yet  I 
must  make  it." 

"Put  your  hand  in  mine,  then,  and  I'll  take  you  on  any 
conditions  you  like." 

"One  word  more  before  we  close  our  bargain.  It  might 
so  happen  —  it  is  far  from  unlikely  —  that  the  circumstances 
of  which  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  utter  a  syllable  may  come 
to  your  ears  when  I  am  your  wife,  when  it  will  be  impos- 
sible for  you  to  treat  them  as  calumnies,  and  just  as  idle  to 
say  that  you  never  heard  of  them  before.  How  will  you  act 
if  such  a  moment  comes?  " 

"Answer  me  one  plain  question  first.  Is  there  any  man 
living  who  has  power  over  you  —  except  as  regards  these 
letters,  I  mean  ?  " 


496  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  None." 

"  There  is,  then,  no  charge  of  this,  that,  or  t'  other?  " 

"  I  will  answer  no  more.  I  have  told  you  fairly  that  if 
you  take  me  for  your  wife  you  must  be  prepared  to  stand  in 
the  breach  between  me  and  the  world,  and  meet  whatever 
assails  me  as  one  prepared.     Are  you  ready  for  this?  " 

"  I  'm  not  afraid  of  the  danger —  " 

"  So,  then,  your  fears  are  only  for  the  cause?" 

It  was  with  the  very  faintest  touch  of  scorn  these  words 
were  spoken ;  but  he  marked  it,  and  reddened  over  face  and 
forehead. 

"  When  that  cause  will  have  become  my  own,  you'll  see 
that  I  '11  hesitate  little  about  defending  it." 

"That's  all  that  I  ask  for,  all  that  I  wish.  This  is  strange 
pourtship,"  said  she,  trying  to  laugh;  "but  let  us  carry  it 
through  consistently.  I  conclude  you  are  not  rich ;  neither 
am  I,  —  at  least,  for  the  present ;  a  very  few  weeks,  however, 
will  put  me  in  possession  of  a  large  property.  It  is  in  land 
in  America.  The  legal  formalities  which  are  necessary  will 
be  completed  almost  immediately,  and  my  co-heir  is  now  com- 
ing over  from  the  States  to  meet  me,  and  establish  his  claim 
also.  These  are  all  confidences,  remember,  for  I  now  speak 
to  you  freely ;  and,  in  the  same  spirit  that  I  make  them,  I 
ask  you  to  trust  me,  — to  trust  me  fully  and  wholly,  with  a 
faith  that  says,  '  I  will  wait  to  the  end  —  to  the  very  end ! ' " 

"  Let  this  be  my  pledge,"  said  he,  taking  her  hand  and 
kissing  it.  "Faith!"  said  he,  after  a  second  or  two,  "I 
can  scarcely  believe  in  my  good  luck.  It  seems  to  be  every 
moment  so  like  a  dream  to  think  that  you  consent  to  take 
me ;  just,  too,  when  I  was  beginning  to  feel  that  fortune 
had  clean  forgotten  me.  You  are  not  listening  to  me,  not 
minding  a  word  I  say.  What  is  it,  then,  you  are  thinking 
of?" 

"  I  was  plotting,"  said  she,  gravely. 

"  Plotting,  —  more  plotting  !  Why  can't  we  go  along  now 
on  the  high-road,  without  looking  for  by-paths  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  —  not  yet  awhile.  Attend  to  me,  now.  It  is 
not  likely  that  we  can  meet  again  very  soon.  My  coming  out 
here  to-day  was  at  great  risk,  for  I  am  believed  to  be  ill  and 
in  bed  with  a  feverish  cold.     I  cannot  venture  to  repeat  this 


THE   LONE   VILLA   ON   THE   CAMPAGNA.  497 

peril,  but  you  shall  bear  from  me.  My  maid  is  to  be  trusted, 
and  will  bring  you  tidings  of  me.  With  to-morrow's  post  I 
hope  to  learn  where  Paten  is,  and  when  he  will  be  here. 
You  shall  learn  both  immediately,  and  be  prepared  to  act  ou 
the  information.  Above  all  things,  bear  in  mind  that  though 
I  hate  this  man,  all  my  abhorrence  of  him  is  nothing  —  actu- 
ally nothing  —  to  my  desire  to  regain  my  letters.  For  them 
I  would  forego  everything.  Had  I  but  these  in  my  posses- 
sion, I  could  wait  for  vengeance,  and  wait  patiently." 

"  So  that  from  himself  personally  you  fear  nothing?" 

''  Nothing.  He  cannot  say  more  of  me  than  is  open  to  all 
the  world  to  say  —  "  She  stopped,  and  grew  red,  for  she  felt 
that  her  impetuosity  liad  carried  her  further  than  she  was 
aware.  "  Remember  once  more,  then,  if  you  could  buy  them, 
steal  them,  get  them  in  any  way,  —  I  care  not  how,  that  my 
object  is  fulfilled,  —  the  day  you  place  them  in  this  hand  it  is 
your  own  !  " 

He  burst  out  into  some  rhapsody  of  his  delight,  but  checked 
himself  as  suddenly,  when  he  saw  that  her  face  had  assumed 
its  former  look  of  preoccupation. 

"  Plotting  again  ?  "  asked  he,  half  peevishly. 

"  I  have  need  to  plot,"  said  she,  mournfully,  as  she  leaned 
her  head  upon  her  hand  ;  and  now  there  came  over  her  coun- 
tenance a  look  of  deepest  sorrow.  "  I  grow  very  weary  of 
all  this  at  times,"  said  she,  in  a  faint  and  broken  voice  ;  "  so 
weary  that  I  half  suspect  it  were  better  to  throw  the  cards 
down,  and  say,  'There!  I've  lost!  What's  the  stake?'  I 
believe  I  could  do  this.  I  am  convinced  I  could,  if  I  were 
certain  that  there  was  one  man  or  one  woman  on  the  earth 
wlio  would  give  me  one  word  of  pity,  or  bestow  one  syllable 
of  compassion  for  my  fall." 

"  But  surely  your  daughter  Clara  —  " 

"  Clara  is  not  my  daughter ;  she  is  nothing  to  me,  —  never 
was,  never  can  be.  We  are  separated,  besides,  never  to 
meet  again,  and  I  charge  you  not  to  speak  of  her." 

"  May  I  never!  if  I  can  see  my  way  at  all.  It's  out  of 
one  mystery  into  another.     W^ill  you  just  tell  me  —  " 

"  Ask  me  nothing.  You  have  heard  from  me  this  day 
what  I  have  never  told  another.  But  I  have  confidence  in 
your  good  faith,  and  can  say,  '  If  you  rue  your  bargain,  there 
32 


498  ONE   OF  THEM. 

is  yet  time  to  say  so,'  aud  you  may  leave  this  as  free  as  when 
you  entered  it." 

"  You  never  mistook  a  man  more.  It's  not  going  back  I 
was  thinking  of ;  but  surely  I  might  ask  —  " 

"Once  for  all,  I  will  not  be  questioned.  There  never 
lived  that  man  or  woman  who  could  thread  their  way  safely 
through  difficulties,  if  they  waited  to  have  every  obstacle 
canvassed  and  every  possible  mystery  explained.  You  must 
leave  me  to  my  own  guidance  here ;  and  one  of  its  first  con- 
ditions is,  not  to  shake  my  confidence  in  myself." 

"  Won't  3'ou  even  tell  me  when  we  're  to  be  one?  " 

"  What  an  ardent  lover  it  is  !  "  said  she,  laughing.  "  There, 
fetch  me  my  shawl,  and  let  me  see  that  you  know  how  to 
put  it  properly  on  my  shoulders.  No  liberties,  sir !  and 
least  of  all  when  they  crush  a  Parisian  bonnet.  The  evening 
is  falling  already,  and  I  must  set  off  homewards." 

"Won't  you  give  me  a  seat  in  the  carriage  with  you? 
Surely,  you  'd  not  see  me  ride  back  in  such  a  downpour  as 
that." 

"  I  should  think  I  would.  I  'd  leave  you  to  go  it  on  foot 
rather  than  commit  such  an  indiscretion.  Drive  back  to 
Rome  with  Mr.  O'Shea  alone  !  What  would  the  world  say? 
What  would  Sir  William  Heathcote  say,  who  expects  to 
make  me  Lady  Heathcote  some  early  day  next  mouth?" 

"  By  the  way,  I  heard  that  story.  An  old  fellow,  called 
Nick  Holmes,  told  me  —  " 

"  What  old  Nick  told  you  could  scarcely  be  true.  There, 
will  you  order  the  cai-riage  to  the  door,  and  give  these  good 
people  some  money?  Ain't  you  charmed  that  I  give  you  one 
of  a  husband's  privileges  so  early?  Don't  dare  to  answer 
me ;  an  Irishman  never  has  the  discretion  to  reply  to  a  lib- 
erty as  he  ought.  Is  that  poor  beast  yours?"  asked  she,  as 
they  gained  the  door,  and  saw  a  horse  standing,  all  shivering 
and  wretched,  under  a  frail  shed. 

"  He  was  this  morning,  but  I  had  the  good  luck  to  sell 
him  before  I  took  this  ride." 

"I  must  really  compliment  you,"  said  she,  laughing 
heartily.  "  A  gentleman  who  makes  love  so  economically 
ought  to  be  a  model  of  order  when  a  husband."  And  with 
this  she  stepped  in,  and  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  U. 


A    DINNER    OF    TWO, 


The  O'Shea  returned  to  Rome  at  a  "slapping  pace."  He 
did  his  eight  miles  of  heavy  ground  within  forty  minutes. 
But  neither  the  speed  nor  the  storm  could  turn  his  thoughts 
from  the  scene  he  had  just  passed  through.  It  was  with 
truth  he  said  that  he  could  not  give  credit  to  the  fact  of  such 
good  fortune  as  to  believe  she  would  accept  him ;  and  yet 
the  more  he  reflected  on  the  subject,  the  more  was  he  puzzled 
and  disconcerted.  When  he  had  last  seen  her,  she  refused 
him, — refused  him  absolutely  and  flatly;  she  even  hinted 
at  a  reason  that  seemed  unanswerable,  and  suggested  that, 
though  they  might  aid  each  other  as  friends,  there  could  be 
no  copartnership  of  interests.  "  What  has  led  her  to  this 
change  of  mind,  Heaven  knows.  It  is  no  lucky  turn  of  for- 
tune on  my  side  can  have  induced  it ;  my  prospects  were 
never  bleaker.  And  then,"  thought  he,  "of  what  nature  is 
this  same  secret,  or  rather  these  secrets,  of  hers,  for  they 
seem  to  grow  in  clusters?  What  can  she  have  done?  or 
what  has  Penthony  Morris  done?  Is  he  alive?  Is  he  at 
Norfolk  Island  ?  Was  he  a  forger,  or  worse  ?  How  much 
does  Paten  know  about  her?  What  power  has  he  over  her 
besides  the  possession  of  these  letters?  Is  Paten  Penthony 
Morris?"  It  was  thus  that  his  mind  went  to  and  fro,  like  a 
surging  sea,  restless  and  not  advancing.  Never  was  there  a 
man  more  tortured  by  his  conjectures.  He  knew  that  she 
might  marry  Sir  William  Heathcote  if  she  liked ;  why,  then, 
prefer  himself  to  a  man  of  station  and  fortune?  Was  it  that 
he  was  more  likely  to  enact  the  vengeance  she  thirsted  for 
than  the  old  Baronet?  Ay,  that  was  a  reasonable  calcula- 
tion. She  was  right  there,  and  he  'd  bring  Master  Paten  "  to 
book,"  as  sure  as  his  name  was  O'Shea.     That  was  the  sort 


500  ONE   OF  THEM. 

of  thing  he  understood  as  well  as  any  man  in  Europe.  He 
had  been  out  scores  of  times,  and  knew  how  to  pick  a  quar- 
rel, and  to  aggravate  it,  and  make  it  perfectly  beyond  all 
possibility  of  arrangement,  as  well  as  any  fire-eater  of  a 
French  line  regiment.  That  was,  perhaps,  the  reason  of  the 
widow's  choice  of  him.  If  she  married  Heathcote,  it  would 
be  a  case  for  lawyers :  a  great  trial  at  Westminster,  and  a 
great  scandal  in  the  papers.  "  But  with  me  it  will  be  all 
quiet  and  peaceable.  I  '11  get  back  her  letters,  or  I  '11  know 
why." 

He  next  bethought  him  of  her  fortune.  He  wished  she  had 
told  him  more  about  it,  —  how  it  came  to  her,  —  was  it  by 
settlement,  —  was  it  from  the  Morrises?  He  wished,  too,  it 
had  not  been  in  America ;  he  was  not  quite  sure  that  property 
there  meant  anything  at  all ;  and,  lastly,  he  brought  to  mind 
that  though  he  had  proposed  for  dozens  of  women,  this  was 
the  only  occasion  he  was  not  asked  what  he  could  secure  by 
settlement,  and  how  much  he  would  give  as  pin-money.  No, 
on  that  score  she  was  delicacy  itself,  and  he  was  one  to 
appreciate  all  the  refinement  of  her  reserve.  Indeed,  if  it 
came  to  the  old  business  of  searches,  and  showing  titles,  and 
all  the  other  exposures  of  the  O'Shea  family,  he  felt  that  he 
would  rather  die  a  bachelor  than  encounter  them.  "  She 
knew  how  to  catch  me !  'A  row  to  fight  through,  and  no 
questions  asked  about  money,  O'Shea,'  says  she.  '  Can  you 
resist  temptation  like  that?  '  " 

As  he  alighted  at  the  hotel,  he  saw  Agincourt  standing  at 
a  window,  and  evidently  laughing  at  the  dripping,  mud- 
stained  appearance  he  presented. 

"  I  hope  and  trust  that  was  n't  the  nag  I  bought  this  morn- 
ing," said  he  to  O'Shea,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

' '  The  vei-y  same ;  and  I  never  saw  him  in  finer  heart.  If 
you  only  witnessed  the  way  he  carried  me  through  those 
ploughed  fields  out  there !  He  's  strong  in  the  loins  as  a 
cart-horse." 

"  I  must  say  that  you  appear  to  have  ridden  him  as  a 
friend's  horse.     He  seemed  dead  beat,  as  he  was  led  away." 

"  He  's  fresh  as  a  four-year  old." 

"Well,  never  mind,  go  and  dress  for  dinner,  for  you 're 
half  an  hour  behind  time  already. " 


A  DINNER  OF  TWO.  501 

O'Shea  was  not  sorry  to  have  the  excuse,  and  hurried  off 
to  make  his  toilet. 

Freytag  was  aware  that  his  guest  was  a  "  Milor',"  and  the 
dinner  was  very  good,  and  the  wine  reasonably  so;  and  the 
two,  as  they  placed  a  little  spider-table  between  them  before 
the  fire,  seemed  fully  conscious  of  all  the  enjoyment  of  the 
situation. 

Agincourt  said,  "  Is  not  this  jolly?  "  And  so  it  was.  And 
what  is  there  jollier  than  to  be  about  sixteen  or  seventeen 
years  of  age,  with  good  health,  good  station,  and  ample 
means?  To  be  launched  into  manhood,  too,  as  a  soldier, 
without  one  detracting  sense  of  man's  troubles  and  cares,  — 
to  feel  that  your  elders  condescend  to  be  your  equals,  and 
will  even  accept  your  invitation  to  dinner !  —  ay,  and  more, 
practise  towards  you  all  those  little  flatteries  and  attentions 
which,  however  vapid  ten  years  later,  are  positive  ecstasies 
now ! 

But  of  all  its  glorious  privileges  there  is  not  one  cau  com- 
pare with  the  boundless  self-confidence  of  youth,  that  implicit 
faith  not  alone  in  its  energy  and  activity,  its  fearless  con- 
tempt for  danger,  and  its  indifference  to  hardships,  but,  more 
strange  still,  in  its  superior  sharpness  and  knowledge  of  life ! 
Oh  dear !  are  we  not  shrewd  fellows  when  we  matriculate  at 
Christ  Church,  or  see  ourselves  gazetted  Cornet  in  the  Horse 
Guards  Purple?  Who  ever  equalled  us  in  all  the  wiles  and 
schemes  of  mankind?  Must  he  not  rise  early  who  means  to 
dupe  us?  Have  we  not  a  registered  catalogue  of  all  the 
knaveries  that  have  ever  been  practised  on  the  unsuspecting? 
Truly  have  we ;  and  if  suspicion  were  a  safeguard,  nothing 
can  harm  us. 

Now,  Agincourt  was  a  fine,  true-hearted,  generous  young 
fellow,  —  manly  and  straightforward,  — but  he  had  imbibed 
his  share  of  this  tendency.  He  fancied  himself  subtle,  and 
imagined  tliat  a  nice  negotiation  could  not  be  intrusted  to 
better  hands.  Besides  this,  he  was  eager  to  impress  Heath- 
cote  with  a  high  opinion  of  his  skill,  and  show  that  even  a 
regular  man  of  the  world  like  O'Shea  was  not  near  a  match 
for  him. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  drink  that  light  claret  such  an  evening 
as  this,"  said  O'Shea,  pushing  away  his  just-tasted  glass. 
"  Let  us  have  something  a  shade  warmer." 


502  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Ring  the  bell,  and  order  what  you  like." 

"Here,  this  will  do,  —  '  Clos  Vougeot,'"  said  O'Shea, 
pointing  out  to  the  waiter  the  name  ou  the  wine  "  carte." 

"And  if  that  be  a  failure,  I'll  fall  back  on  brandy-aud- 
water,  the  refuge  of  a  man  after  bad  wine,  just  as  disap- 
pointed young  ladies  take  to  a  convent.  If  you  can  drink 
that  little  tipple,  Agincourt,  you  're  right  to  do  it.  You  '11 
come  to  Burgundy  at  forty,  and  to  rough  port  ten  years 
later ;  but  you  've  a  wide  margin  left  before  that.  How  old 
are  you? " 

"I  shall  be  seventeen  my  next  birthday,"  said  the  other, 
flushing,  and  not  wishing  to  add  that  there  were  eleven 
months  and  eight  days  to  run  before  that  event  should  come 
off. 

"  That 's  a  mighty  pretty  time  of  life.  It  gives  you  a  clear 
four  years  for  irresponsible  follies  before  you  come  of  age. 
Then  you  may  fairly  count  upon  three  or  four  more  for 
legitimate  wastefulness,  and  with  a  little,  very  little,  dis- 
cretion, you  never  need  know  a  Jew  till  you  're  six-and- 
twenty." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  good  fellow,"  said  the  other, 
coloring,  half  angrily;  "I've  had  plenty  to  do  with  those 
gents  already.  Ask  Nathan  whether  he  has  n't  whole  sheafs 
of  my  bills.  My  guardian  only  allows  me  twelve  hundred 
a  year,  —  a  downright  shame  they  call  it  in  the  regiment,  and 
so  I  wrote  him  word.  In  fact,  I  told  him  what  our  Major 
said,  that  with  such  means  as  mine  I  ought  to  try  and  man- 
age an  exchange  into  the  Cape  Rifles." 

"Or  a  black  i-egiment  in  the  West  Indies,"  chimed  in 
O'Shea,  gravely. 

"  No,  confound  it,  he  did  n't  say  that !  " 

"•  The  Irish  Constabulary,  too,  is  a  cheap  corps.  You 
might  stand  that." 

"  I  don't  mean  to  try  either,"  said  the  youth,  angrily. 

"  And  what  does  Nathan  charge  you?  —  say  for  a  '  thing ' 
at  three  months  ?  " 

"That  all  depends  upon  the  state  of  the  money-market," 
said  Agincourt,  with  a  look  of  profoundest  meaning.  "  It  is 
entirely  a  question  of  the  foreign  exchanges,  and  I  study 
them   like  a   stockbroker.     Nathan  said   one  day,   '  It 's  a 


A  DINNER   OF  TWO.  503 

thousand  pities  he  's  a  Peer ;  there 's  a  fellow  with  a  head  to 
beat  the  whole  Stock  Exchange.'" 

"  Does  he  make  you  pay  twenty  per  cent,  or  five-and- 
twenty  for  short  dates  ?  " 

"  You  don't  understand  it  at  all.  It 's  no  question  of  that 
kind.  It's  always  a  calculation  of  what  gold  is  worth  at 
Amsterdam,  or  some  other  place,  and  it 's  a  difference  of, 
maybe,  one-eighth  that  determines  the  whole  value  of  a 
bill." 

''  I  see,"  said  O'Shea,  putting  bis  cigar  very  slowly.  "I 
have  no  doubt  that  you  bought  your  knowledge  on  these 
subjects  dearly  enough." 

"  I  should  think  I  did!  Until  I  came  to  understand  the 
thing,  I  was  always  '  outside  the  ropes,'  always  borrowing 
with  the  '  exchanges  against  me,'  —  you  know  what  I  mean  ?  " 

"■I  believe  I  do,"  said  O'Shea,  sighing  heavily.  "They 
have  been  against  me  all  my  life." 

"That's  just  because  you  never  took  trouble  to  study  the 
thing.  You  rushed  madly  into  the  market  whenever  you 
wanted  money,  and  paid  whatever  they  asked." 

"I  did  indeed!  and,  what's  more,  was  very  grateful  if  I 
got  it.", 

"  And  I  know  what  came  of  that,  —  how  that  ended." 

"How?" 

"Why,  you  dipped  your  estate,  gave  mortgages,  and  the 
rest  of  it." 

O'Shea  nodded  a  full  assent. 

"  Oh,  /  know  the  whole  story;  I've  seen  so  much  of  this 
sort  of  thing.  Well,  old  fellow,"  added  he,  after  a  pause, 
"  if  I'd  been  acquainted  with  you  ten  or  fifteen  years  ago,  I 
could  have  saved  you  from  all  this  ruin." 

O'Shea  repressed  every  tendency  to  a  smile,  and  nodded 
again. 

"I'd  have  said  to  you,  'Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  watch  the 
market,  and  I  '11  tell  you  when  to  "go  in." '  " 

"  Maybe  it 's  not  too  late  yet,  so  give  me  a  word  of  friendly 
advice,"  said  O'Shea,  with  a  modest  humility.  "  There  are 
few  men  want  it  more." 

There  was  now  a  pause  of  several  minutes  ;  O'Shea  waiting 
to  see  how  his  bait  had  taken,  and  Agincourt  revolving  in 


504  ONE   OF  THEM. 

his  mind  whether  this  was  not  the  precise  moment  for  open- 
ing his  negotiation.     At  last  he  said,  — 

"  I  wrote  that  letter  I  promised  you.  I  said  you  were  an 
out-and-outer  as  to  ability,  and  that  they  could  n't  do  better 
than  make  you  a  Governor  somewhere,  though  you  'd  not  be 
disgusted  with  something  smaller.  I've  been  looking  over 
the  vacancies ;  there 's  not  much  open.  Could  you  be  a 
Mahogany  Commissioner  at  Honduras  ? " 

"  Well,  so  far  as  having  had  my  legs  under  that  wood  for 
many  years  with  pleasure  to  myself  and  satisfaction  to  my 
friends,  perhaps  I  might." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  'd  do  if  I  were  you?  " 

"  I  have  not  an  idea." 

"  I  'd  marry,  —  by  Jove,  I  would  !  —  I  'd  marry !  " 

"  I  've  thought  of  it  half  a  dozen  times,"  said  he,  stretching 
out  his  hand  for  the  decanter,  and  rather  desirous  of  escap- 
ing notice  ;  "  but,  you  see,  to  marry  a  woman  with  money,  — 
and  of  course  it 's  that  you  mean,  —  there  's  always  the  inquiry 
what  you  have  yourself,  where  it  is,  and  what  are  the  charges 
on  it.  Now,  as  you  shrewdly  guessed  awhile  ago,  I  dipped 
my  estate,  —  dipped  it  so  deep  that  I  begin  to  suspect  it  won't 
come  up  again." 

"But  look  out  for  a  woman  that  has  her  fortune  at  her 
own  disposal." 

"And  no  friends  to  advise  her." 

O' Shea's  face,  as  he  said  this,  was  so  absurdly  droll 
that  Agincourt  laughed  aloud.  "Well,  as  you  observe,  no 
friends  to  advise  her.  I  suppose  you  don't  care  much  for 
connection,  — I  mean  rank?  " 

"As  for  the  matter  of  family,  I  have  enough  for  as 
many  wives  as  Bluebeard,  if  the  law  would  let  me  have 
them." 

"Then  I  fancy  I  know  the  thing  to  suit  you.  She  's  a 
stunning  pretty  woman,  besides." 

"Where  is  she?" 

"At  Rome  here." 

"And  who  is  she?  " 

"Mrs.  Penthony  Morris,  the  handsome  widow,  that's  on 
a  visit  to  the  Heathcotes.  She  must  have  plenty  of  tin,  I 
can  answer  for  that,  for  old  Nathan  told  me  she  was  in  all 


A   DINNER  OF  TWO.  505 

the  heavy  transfers  of  South  American  shares,  and  was  a 
buyer  for  very  large  amounts." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that? " 

"I  can  give  my  word  on  it.  I  remember  his  saying  one 
morning,  'The  widow  takes  her  losses  easily;  she  minds 
twelve  thousand  pounds  no  more  than  I  would  a  five-pound 
note.'  " 

"They  have  a  story  here  that  she  's  going  to  marry  old 
Heathcote." 

"Not  true,  —  I  mean,  that  she  won't  have  him." 

"And  why?  It  was  clear  enough  she  was  playing  that 
game  for  some  time  back." 

"I  wanted  Charley  to  try  his  chance,"  said  Agincom-t, 
evading  the  question ;  "but  he  is  spooney  on  his  cousin  May, 
I  fancy,  and  has  no  mind  to  do  a  prudent  thing." 

"But  how  am  I  to  go  in?"  said  O'Shea,  timidly.  "If 
she  's  as  rich  as  you  say,  would  she  listen  to  a  poor  out-at- 
elbows  Ii'ish  gentleman,  with  only  his  good  blood  to  back 
him? " 

"You  're  the  man  to  do  it,  —  the  very  man." 

O'Shea  shook  his  head. 

"I  say  you  'd  succeed.     I  'd  back  you  against  the  field." 

"  Will  you  make  me  a  bet  on  it?  " 

"With  all  my  heart!     What  shall  it  be?" 

"Lay  me  a  hundred  to  one,  in  tens,  and  I  give  you  my 
solemn  word  of  honor  I  '11  do  my  very  best  to  lose  my  wager 
and  win  the  widow." 

"Done!  I  '11  bet  you  a  thousand  pounds  to  ten;  book  it, 
with  the  date,  and  I'll  sign  it." 

While  Agincourt  was  yet  speaking,  O'Shea  had  produced 
a  small  note-book,  and  was  recording  the  bet.  Scarcely 
had  he  clasped  the  little  volume  again,  when  the  waiter 
entered,  and  handed  him  a  note. 

O'Shea  read  it  rapidly,  and,  finishing  off  his  glass,  refilled 
and  drank  it.  "I  must  leave  you  for  half  an  hour,"  said 
he,  hastily.  "There  's  a  friend  of  mine  in  a  bit  of  a  scrape 
with  one  of  these  French  officers;  but  I  '11  be  back 
presently." 

"I  say,  make  your  man  fight.  Don't  stand  any  bullying 
with  those  fellows." 


506  ONE   OF  THEM. 

O'Shea  did  not  wait  for  his  counsels,  but  hurried 
off. 

"This  way,  sir,"  whispered  a  man  to  him,  as  he  passed 
out  into  the  court  of  the  hotel;  "the  carriage  is  round  the 
corner." 

He  followed  the  man,  and  in  a  few  minutes  found  himself 
in  a  narrow  by-street,  where  a  single  carriage  was  standing. 
The  glass  was  quietly  let  down  as  he  drew  near,  and  a  voice 
he  had  no  ditHculty  in  recognizing,  said,  "I  have  just  re- 
ceived a  most  urgent  letter,  and  I  must  leave  Rome  to- 
morrow at  daybreak,  for  Germany.  I  have  learned,  besides, 
that  Paten  is  at  Baden.  He  was  on  his  way  here,  but 
stopped  to  try  his  luck  at  the  tables.  He  has  twice  broken 
the  bank,  and  swears  he  will  not  leave  till  he  has  succeeded 
a  third  time.  We  all  well  know  how  such  pledges  finish. 
But  you  must  set  off  there  at  once.  Leave  to-morrow  night, 
if  you  can,  and  by  the  time  you  arrive,  or  the  day  after, 
you  '11  find  a  letter  for  you  at  the  post,  with  my  address,  and 
all  your  future  directions.  Do  nothing  with  Paten  till  you 
hear;  mind  that, — nothing.  I  have  not  time  for  another 
word,  for  I  am  in  terror  lest  my  absence  from  the  house 
should  be  discovered.  If  anything  imminent  occur,  you 
shall  hear  by  telegraph." 

"Let  me  drive  back  with  you;  I  have  much  to  say,  much 
to  ask  you,"  said  he,  earnestly. 

"On  no  account.     There,  good-bye;  don't  forget  me." 

While  he  yet  held  her  hand,  the  word  was  given  to  drive 
on,  and  his  farewell  was  lost  in  the  rattling  of  the  wheels 
over  the  pavement. 

"Well,  have  you  patched  it  up,  or  is  it  a  fight?"  asked 
Agincourt  when  he  entered  the  room  once  more. 

"You'll  keep  my  secret,  I  know,"  said  O'Shea,  in  a 
whisper.  "Don't  even  breathe  a  word  to  Heathcote,  but 
I  '11  have  to  leave  this  to-morrow,  get  over  the  nearest 
frontier,  and  settle  this  affair." 

"You  'd  like  some  cash,  would  n't  you?  —  at  all  events,  I 
am  your  debtor  for  that  horse.     Do  you  want  more  ? " 

"There,  that's  enough, — two  hundred  will  do,"  said 
O'Shea,  taking  the  notes  from  his  fingers;  "even  if  I  have 
to  make  a  bolt  of  it,  that  will  be  ample." 


A  DINNER  OF  TWO.  507 

"This  looks  badly  for  your  wager,  O'Shea.  It  may  lose 
you  the  widow,  I  suspect." 

"Who  knows?"  said  O'Shea,  laughing.  "Circular  sail- 
ing is  sometimes  the  short  cut  on  land  as  well  as  sea.  If 
you  have  any  good  news  for  me  from  Downing  Street,  I  '11 
shy  you  a  line  to  say  where  to  send;  and  so,  good-bye." 

And  Agincourt  shook  his  hand  cordially,  but  not  without 
a  touch  of  envy  as  he  thought  of  the  mission  he  was  engaged 
in. 


CHAPTER  in. 

SOME    LAST    WORDS. 

"While  Agincourt  and  O'Shea  thus  sat  and  conversed  to- 
gether, there  was  another  fireside  which  presented  a  far  hap- 
pier picture,  and  where  old  Sir  William  sat,  with  his  son 
and  May  Leslie,  overjoyed  to  think  that  they  were  brought 
together  again,  and  to  separate  no  more.  Charles  had  told 
them  that  he  had  determined  never  to  leave  them,  and  all 
their  thoughts  had  gone  back  to  the  long,  long  ago,  when 
they  were  so  united  and  so  happy.  There  was,  indeed,  one 
theme  which  none  dared  to  touch.  It  was  ever  and  anon 
uppermost  in  the  mind  of  each,  and  yet  none  had  courage 
to  adventure  on  it,  even  in  allusion.  It  was  in  one  of  the 
awkward  pauses  which  this  thought  produced  that  a  servant 
came  to  say  Mrs.  Morris  would  be  glad  to  see  Charles  in 
her  room.  He  had  more  than  once  requested  permission  to 
visit  her,  but  somehow  now  the  invitation  had  come  ill- 
timed,  and  he  arose  with  a  half  impatience  to  obey  it. 

During  the  greater  part  of  that  morning  Charles  Heath- 
cote  had  employed  himself  in  imagining  by  what  process  of 
persuasion,  what  line  of  argument,  or  at  what  price  he 
could  induce  the  widow  herself  to  break  off  the  engagement 
with  his  father.  The  guarded  silence  Sir  William  had 
maintained  on  the  subject  since  his  son's  arrival  was  to 
some  extent  an  evidence  that  he  knew  his  project  could  not 
meet  approval.  Nor  was  the  old  man  a  stranger  to  the  fact 
that  May  Leslie's  manner  to  the  widow  had  long  been 
marked  by  reserve  and  estrangement.  This,  too,  increased 
Sir  William's  embarrassment,  and  left  him  more  isolated 
and  alone.  "How  shall  I  approach  such  a  question  and 
not  offend  her?  "  was  Charles's  puzzle,  as  he  passed  her 
door.     So  full  was  he  of  the  bulletins  of  her  indisposition, 


SOME   LAST  WORDS.  509 

that  he  almost  started  as  he  saw  her  seated  at  a  table, 
writing  away  rapidly,  aud  looking,  to  his  thinking,  as  well 
as  he  had  ever  seen  her. 

"This  is,  indeed,  a  pleasant  surprise,"  said  he,  as  he 
came  forward.  "I  was  picturing  to  myself  a  sick-room  aud 
a  sufferer,  and  I  find  you  more  beautiful  than  ever." 

"You  surely  could  n't  imagine  I  'd  have  sent  for  you  if  I 
were  not  conscious  that  m}-  paleness  became  me,  and  that 
my  dressing-gown  was  very  pretty.  Sit  down  —  no,  here  — 
at  my  side;  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  and  not  very  long 
to  say  it.  If  I  had  not  been  actually  overwhelmed  with 
business,  real  business  too,  I  'd  have  sent  for  you  long  ago. 
I  could  imagine  with  very  little  difficulty  what  was  upper- 
most in  your  mind  lately,  and  how,  having  determined  to 
remain  at  home,  your  thoughts  would  never  quit  one  dis- 
tressing theme, —  you  know  what  I  mean.  Well,  I  repeat,  I 
could  well  estimate  all  your  troubles  aud  difficulties  on  this 
head,  and  I  longed  for  a  few  minutes  alone  with  you,  when 
we  could  speak  freely  and  candidly  to  each  other,  no  dis- 
guise, no  deception  on  either  side.  Shall  we  be  frank  with 
each  other  ?  " 

"By  all  means." 

"Well,  then,  you  don't  like  this  marriage.  Come,  speak 
out  honestly  your  mind." 

"Why,  when  I  think   of  the  immense  disproportion   in 
age ;  when  I  see  on  one  side  —  " 

"Fiddle  faddle!  if  I  were  seventy,  it  wouldn't  make  it 
better.  I  tell  you  I  don't  want  fine  speeches  nor  delicate 
evasions ;  therefore  be  the  blunt,  straightforward  fellow  you 
used  to  be.  and  saj^  '  I  don't  like  it  at  all.'  " 

"Well,  here  goes,  I  do  7wt  like  it  at  all." 

"Neither  do  I,"  said  she,  lying  back  listlessly  in  her 
chair,  and  looking  calmly  at  him.  "I  see  what  is  passing 
in  your  mind,  Charles.  I  read  your  thoughts  in  their  ebb 
and  flow,  and  they  come  to  this :  '  Why  have  you  taken  such 
consummate  pains  about  an  object  you  would  regret  to  see 
accomplished?  To  what  end  all  your  little  coquetries  and 
graces,  and  so  forth?'  Well,  the  question  is  reasonable 
enough,  and  I  '11  give  you  only  one  answer.  It  amused  me, 
and  it  worried  others.     It  kept  poor  May  and  yourself  in  a 


610  ONE   OF  THEM. 

small  fever,  and  I  have  never  through  life  had  self-command 
enough  to  deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  terrifying  people  at 
small  cost,  making  them  fancy  they  were  drowning  in  two 
feet  of  water." 

"I  hope  May  is  grateful;  I  am  sure  /am,"  said  Charles, 
stiffly. 

"Well,  if  you  have  not  been  in  the  past,  I  intend  you  to 
be  so  for  the  future.  I  mean  to  relinquish  the  great  prize 
I  had  so  nearly  won ;  to  give  up  the  distinguished  honor  of 
being  your  stepmothei',  with  all  the  rights  and  privileges  I 
could  have  grouped  around  that  station.  I  mean  to  abdi- 
cate all  my  power;  to  leave  the  dear  Heathcotes  to  the 
enjoyment  of  such  happiness  as  their  virtues  and  merits 
cannot  fail  to  secure  them,  under  the  simple  condition  that 
they  will  forget  me,  or,  if  that  be  more  than  they  can  prom- 
ise, that  they  will  never  make  me  the  subject  of  their  dis- 
cussions, nor  bring  up  my  name,  either  in  praise  or  blame. 
Now  understand  me  aright,  Charles,"  said  she,  earnestly; 
"this  is  no  request  prompted  by  any  pique  of  injured  pride 
or  wounded  self-love.  It  is  not  uttered  in  the  irritation  of 
one  who  feels  rejected  by  you.  It  is  a  grave  demand, 
made  as  the  price  of  an  important  concession.  I  exact  that 
my  name  be  not  spoken,  or,  if  uttered  by  others  in  your 
presence,  that  it  be  unacknowledged  and  unnoticed.  It 
is  no  idle  wish,  believe  me;  for  who  are  the  victims  of 
the  world's  calumnies  so  often  as  the  friendless,  whose 
names  call  forth  no  sponsor?  They  are  the  outlaws  that 
any  may  wound,  or  even  kill,  and  their  sole  sanctuary  is 
oblivion." 

"I  think  you  judge  us  harshly,"  began  Charles. 

But  she  stopped  him. 

"No,  far  from  it.  I  know  you  all  by  this  time.  You 
are  far  more  generously  minded  than  your  neighbors,  but 
there  is  one  trait  attaches  to  human  nature  everywhere. 
Every  one  exaggerates  any  peril  he  has  passed  through, 
and  every  man  and  woman  is  prone  to  blacken  the  char- 
acter of  those  who  have  frightened  them.  Come,  I  '11  not 
discuss  the  matter  further.  I  have  all  those  things  to  pack 
up,  and  some  notes  to  write  before  I  go." 

"Go!     Are  you  going  away  so  soon?  " 


SOME   LAST   WORDS.  611 

"To-morrow,  at  daybreak.  I  have  got  tidings  of  a  sick 
relative,  an  old  aunt,  who  was  very  fond  of  nie  long  ago, 
and  who  wishes  to  have  me  near  her.  I  should  like  to  see 
May,  and,  indeed.  Sir  William,  but  I  believe  it  will  be 
better  not:  I  mean  that  partings  are  gratuitous  sorrows. 
You  will  say  all  that  I  wish.  You  will  tell  them  how  it  hap- 
pened that  1  left  so  hurriedly.  I  'm  not  sure,"  added  she, 
smiling,  "that  your  explanation  will  be  very  lucid  or  very 
coherent,  but  the  chances  are,  none  will  care  to  question 
you  too  closely.  Of  course  you  will  repeat  all  my  gratitude 
for  the  kindness  I  have  met  here.  I  have  had  some  of  my 
happiest  days  with  you,"  added  she,  as  if  thinking  aloud, — 
"days  in  which  I  half  forgot  the  life  of  trouble  that  was  to 
be  resumed  on  the  morrow.  And,  above  all,  say,"  said  she, 
with  earnestness,  "that  when  they  have  received  my  debt  of 
thanks  they  are  to  wipe  out  my  name  from  the  ledger,  and 
remember  me  no  more." 

Charles  Heathcote  was  much  moved  by  her  words.  The 
very  calm  she  spoke  in  had  all  its  effect,  and  he  felt  he 
knew  not  what  of  self-accusation  as  he  thought  of  her  lonely 
and  friendless  lot.  He  could  not  disabuse  his  mind  of  the 
thought  that  it  was  through  offended  pride  she  was  relin- 
quishing the  station  she  had  so  long  striven  to  attain,  and 
now  held  within  her  very  grasp.  "She  is  not  the  selfish 
creature  I  had  deemed  her;  she  is  far,  far  better  than  I 
believed.  I  have  mistaken  her,  misjudged  her.  That  she 
has  gone  through  much  sorrow  is  plain ;  that  there  may  be 
in  her  story  incidents  which  she  would  grieve  to  see  a 
town  talk,  is  also  likely;  but  are  not  all  these  reasons  the 
more  for  our  sympathy  and  support,  and  how  shall  we 
answer  to  ourselves,  hereafter,  for  any  show  of  neglect  or 
harshness  towards  her?" 

While  he  thus  reflected,  she  had  turned  to  the  table  and 
was  busy  writing. 

"I  have  just  thought  of  sending  a  few  farewell  lines  to 
May,"  said  she,  talking  away  as  her  pen  ran  along  the 
paper.  "We  all  of  us  mistake  each  other  in  this  world;  we 
are  valued  for  what  we  are  not,  and  deemed  deficient  in  what 
we  have."  She  stopped,  and  then  crumpling  up  tlie  half- 
written  p.aper  in  her  hand,  said:  "No,  I'll  not  write,  —  at 


612  ONE   OF   THEM. 

least,  not  now.  You  '11  tell  her  everything,  —  ay,  Charles, 
everything ! " 

Here  she  fixed  her  eyes  steadfastly  on  him,  as  though  to 
look  into  his  very  thoughts.  "You  and  May  Leslie  will  be 
married,  and  one  of  your  subjects  of  mysterious  talk  when 
you  're  all  alone  will  be  that  strange  woman  who  called  her- 
self Mrs.  Peuthony  Morris.  What  wise  guesses  and  shrewd 
conjectures  do  I  fancy  you  making;  how  cunningly  you  '11 
put  together  fifty  things  that  seem  to  illustrate  her  story, 
and  yet  have  no  bearing  upon  it;  and  how  cleverly  you '11 
construct  a  narrative  for  her  without  one  solitary  atom  of 
truth.  Well,  she  '11  think  of  you,  too,  but  in  a  different 
spirit,  and  she  will  be  happier  than  I  suspect  if  she  do  not 
often  wish  to  live  over  again  the  long  summer  days  and 
starry  nights  at  Marlia." 

"May  is  certain  to  ask  me  about  Clara,  where  she  is,  and 
if  we  are  likely  to  see  her  again." 

"And  you  '11  tell  her  that  as  I  did  not  speak  of  her,  your 
own  delicacy  imposed  such  a  reserve  that  you  could  not 
ask  these  questions.  Good-bye.  But  that  I  want  to  be 
forgotten,  I  'd  give  you  a  keepsake.  Good-bye,  — and  for- 
get me." 

She  turned  away  at  the  last  word,  and  passed  into  an 
inner  room.  Charles  stood  for  an  instant  or  two  irreso- 
lute, and  then  walked  slowly  away. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FOUND    OUT. 

QuACKiNBOss  and  the  Laytons  came  back  in  clue  time  to 
England,  and  at  once  hastened  to  London.  They  had 
traced  Winthrop  and  Trover  at  Liverpool,  and  heard  of 
their  having  left  for  town,  and  thither  they  followed  them 
in  all  eagerness.  The  pursuit  had  now  become  a  chase, 
with  all  its  varying  incidents  of  good  or  bad  fortune.  Each 
took  his  allotted  part,  going  out  of  a  morning  on  his  especial 
beat,  and  returning  late  of  an  evening  to  report  his  success 
or  failure. 

Quackinboss  frequented  all  the  well-known  haunts  of  his 
countrymen,  hoping  to  chance  upon  some  one  who  had  seen 
Winthrop,  or  could  give  tidings  of  him.  Old  Layton  —  the 
doctor,  as  we  shall  for  the  remainder  of  our  brief  space  call 
him  —  was  more  practical.  He  made  searches  for  Hawke's 
will  at  Doctors'  Commons,  and  found  the  transcript  of  a 
brief  document  irregularly  drawn,  and  disposing  of  a  few 
thousand  pounds,  but  not  making  mention  of  any  Ameri- 
can property.  He  next  addressed  himself  to  that  world- 
known  force,  so  celebrated  in  all  the  detection  of  crime; 
he  described  the  men  he  sought  for,  and  offered  rewards  for 
their  discovery,  carefully  protesting  the  while  that  nothing 
but  a  vague  suspicion  attached  to  them. 

As  for  Alfred,  he  tried  to  take  his  share  in  what  had 
such  interest  for  the  others.  He  made  careful  notes  of  the 
points  assigned  to  him  for  investigation;  he  learned  names 
and  addresses,  and  references  to  no  end ;  he  labored  hard 
to  imbue  himself  with  the  zeal  of  the  others,  but  it  would 
not  do.  All  his  thoughts,  hopes,  and  wishes  had  another 
direction,  and  he  longed  impatiently  for  an  opportunity  to 
make  his  escape  from  them,  and  set  out  for  Italy  and  dis- 
cover Clara.  His  only  clew  to  her  was  tlu'ough  Stocmar; 
33 


514  ONE  OF  THEM. 

but  that  gentleman  was  abroad,  and  not  expected  for  some 
days  in  London.  Little  did  the  doctor  or  Quackiuboss  sus- 
pect that  Alfred's  first  call  on  every  morning  was  at  the 
private  entrance  of  the  Regent's  Theatre,  and  his  daily 
question  as  invariably  the  same  demand,  "When  do  you 
expect  Mr.  Stocmar  in  town?" 

Poor  fellow!  he  was  only  bored  by  that  tiresome  search, 
and  hated  every  man,  woman,  and  child  concerned  in  the 
dismal  history;  and  yet  no  other  subject  was  ever  discussed, 
no  other  theme  brought  up  amongst  them.  In  vain  Alfred 
tried  to  turn  the  conversation  upon  questions  of  public  in- 
terest ;  by  some  curious  sympathy  they  would  not  be  drawn 
away  into  that  all-absorbing  vortex,  and,  start  from  what 
point  they  might,  they  were  certain  to  arrive  at  last  at  the 
High  Court  of  Jersey. 

It  was  on  one  evening,  as  they  sat  together  around  the  fire, 
that,  by  dint  of  great  perseverance  and  consummate  skill, 
Alfred  had  drawn  them  away  to  talk  of  India  and  the  war 
there.  Anecdotes  of  personal  heroism  succeeded,  and  for 
every  achievement  of  om-  gallant  fellows  at  Lucknow, 
Quackiuboss  steadily  quoted  some  not  less  daring  exploit  of 
the  Mexican  war.  Thus  discussing  courage,  they  came  at 
last  to  the  nice  question,  —  of  its  characteristics  in  different 
nations,  and  even  in  individuals. 

"  In  cool  daring,  in  confronting  peril  with  perfect  collect- 
edness,  and  such  a  degree  of  self-possession  as  confers  every 
possible  chance  of  escape  on  its  possessor,  a  woman  is 
superior  to  us  all,"  said  the  doctor,  who  for  some  time  had 
been  silently  reflecting.  "One  case  particularly  presents 
itself  to  my  mind,"  resumed  he.  "It  was  connected  with 
that  memorable  trial  at  Jersey." 

Alfred  groaned  heavily,  and  pushed  back  his  chair  from 
the  group. 

"The  case  was  this,"  continued  the  old  man:  "while  the 
police  were  eagerly  intent  on  tracing  out  all  who  were  im- 
plicated in  the  murder,  suspicion  being  rife  on  every  hand, 
every  letter  that  passed  between  the  supposed  confederates 
was  opened  and  read,  and  a  strict  watch  set  over  any  who 
were  believed  likely  to  convey  messages  from  one  to  the 
other. 


FOUND  OUT.  515 

"Ou  the  evening  of  the  inquest — it  was  about  an  hour 
after  dark  —  the  window  of  an  upper  room  was  gently 
opened,  and  a  woman's  voice  called  out  to  a  countryman 
below,  '  Will  you  earn  half  a  crown,  my  good  man,  and  take 
this  note  to  Dr.  Lay  ton's,  in  the  town?'  He  agreed  at 
once,  and  the  letter  and  the  bribe  were  speedily  thrown  into 
his  hat.  Little  did  the  writer  suspect  it  was  a  policeman 
in  disguise  she  had  charged  with  her  commission!  The 
fellow  hastened  off  with  his  prize  to  the  magistrate,  who, 
having  read  the  note,  resealed  it,  and  forwarded  it  to  me. 
Here  it  is.  I  have  shown  it  to  so  many  that  its  condition 
is  become  very  frail,  but  it  is  still  readable.  It  was  very 
brief,  and  ran  thus :  — 

•"Dear  Friend,  — My  misery  will  plead  for  me  if  I  thus  ad- 
dress you.  I  have  a  favor  to  ask,  and  my  broken  heart  tells  me  you 
will  not  refuse  me.  I  want  you  to  cut  me  off  a  lock  of  my  darling's 
hair.  Take  it  from  the  left  temple,  where  it  is  longest,  and  bring  it 
to-morrow  to  his  forlorn  widow, 

'"Louisa  Hawke.' 

"From  the  moment  they  read  that  note,  the  magistrates 
felt  it  an  outrage  to  suspect  her.  I  do  not  myself  mean  to 
implicate  her  in  the  great  guilt,  — far  from  it;  but  here  was 
a  bid  for  sympathy,  and  put  forward  in  all  the  coolness  of 
a  deliberate  plan;  for  the  policeman  himself  told  me,  years 
after,  that  she  saw  him  at  Dover,  and  gave  him  a  sovereign, 
saying  jocularly,  '  I  think  you  look  better  when  dressed  as 
a  countryman.'     Now,  I  call  this  consummate  calculation." 

As  he  was  speaking,  Quackinboss  had  drawn  near  the 
candles,  and  was  examining  the  writing. 

"I  wonder,"  said  he,  "what  the  fellows  who  affect  to 
decipher  character  in  handwriting  would  say  to  this  ?  It 's 
all  regular  and  well  formed." 

"Is  it  very  small?  Are  the  letters  minute?  —  for  that, 
they  allege,  is  one  of  the  indications  of  a  cruel  nature," 
said  Alfred.  "They  show  a  specimen  of  Lucrezia  Borgia's, 
that  almost  requires  a  microscope  to  read  it." 

"No,"  said  Quackinboss;  "that's  what  they  call  a  bold, 
free  hand ;  the  writing,  one  would  sa}^,  of  a  slapdash  gal 
that  wasn't  a-goin'  to  count  consequences." 


516  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"Let  me  interpret  her,"  said  Alfred,  drawing  the  candles 
towards  him,  and  preparing  for  a  very  solemn  and  deliberate 
judgment.  "What's  this?"  cried  he,  almost  wildly.  "I 
know  this  hand  well ;  I  could  swear  to  it.  You  shall  see  if 
I  cannot."'  And,  without  another  word,  he  arose,  and 
rushed  from  the  room.  Before  the  doctor  or  Quackinboss 
could  recover  from  their  astonishment,  Alfred  was  back 
again,  holding  two  notes  in  his  hand.  "Come  here,  both 
of  you,  now,"  cried  he,  "and  tell  me,  are  not  these  in 
the  same  writing?"  They  were  several  short  notes, — 
invitations  or  messages  from  Marlia  about  riding-parties, 
signed  Louisa  Morris.  "What  do  you  say  to  that?  Is 
that  word  '  Louisa  '  written  by  the  same  hand  or  not?  "  cried 
Alfred,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  as  he  spoke. 

" 'Tarnal  snakes  if  it  ain't!"  broke  out  Quackinboss; 
"and  our  widow  woman  was  the  wife  of  that  murdered 
fellow  Hawke." 

"  And  Clara  his  daughter!  "  muttered- Alfred,  as  he  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands  to  hide  his  emotion. 

"These  were  written  by  the  same  person,  that's  clear 
enough,"  said  the  doctor,  closely  scrutinizing  every  word 
and  every  letter;  "  there  are  marks  of  identity  that  cannot 
be  disputed.     But  who  is  this  widow  you  speak  of  ?  " 

Alfred  could  only  stammer  out,  "He'll  tell  you  all,"  as 
he  pointed  to  Quackinboss,  for  a  faintish  sick  sensation 
crept  over  his  frame,  and  he  shook  like  one  in  the  cold  stage 
of  an  ague.  The  American,  however,  gave  a  very  calm  and 
connected  narrative  of  their  first  meeting  with  Mrs.  Penthony 
Morris  and  her  supposed  daughter  at  Lucca ;  how  that  lady, 
from  a  chance  acquaintance  with  the  Heathcotes,  had  estab- 
lished an  intimacy,  and  then  a  friendship  there. 

"  Describe  her  to  me,  —  tell  me  something  of  her  appear- 
ance," burst  in  the  old  man  with  impatience  ;  for  as  his  mind 
followed  the  long-sought- for  "trail,"  his  eagerness  became 
beyond  his  power  of  control.  "Blue  eyes,  that  might  be 
mistaken  for  black,  or  dark  hazel,  had  she  not?  and  the 
longest  of  eyelashes,  the  mouth  full  and  pouting,  but  the 
chin  sharply  turned,  and  firm-looking?     Am  I  right?" 

"  That  are  you,  and  teeth  as  reg'lar  as  a  row  of  soldiers." 

"  Her   foot,    too,    was   perfect.      It   had   been   modelled 


FOUND  OUT. 


617 


scores  of  times  by  sculptors,  and  there  were  casts  of  it  with 
a  Roman  sandal,  or  naked  on  a  plantain-leaf,  in  her  drawing- 
room.     You've  seen  her  foot?" 

"It  was  a  grand  foot!  I  have  seen  it,"  said  the  Ameri- 
can ;  "  and  if  I  was  one  as  liked  monarchy,  I  'd  say  it  might 
have  done  for  a  queen  to  stand  on  in  front  of  a  throne." 

"  What  was  her  voice  like?  "  asked  the  old  man,  eagerly. 

"  Low  and  soft,  with  almost  a  tremor  in  it  when  she  asked 


some  trifling  favor,"  said  Alfred,  now  speaking  for  the  first 
time. 

"Herself,  —  her  very  self.  I  know  her  well,  by  that!" 
cried  the  old  man,  triumphantly.  "  I  carried  those  trembling 
accents  in  my  memory  for  many  and  many  a  day.  Go  on, 
and  tell  me  more  of  her.  Who  was  this  same  Morris,  — 
when,  how,  and  where  were  they  married?" 

"We  never  knew;  none  of  us  ever  saw  him.  Some  said 
he  was  living,  and  in  China  or  India.  Some  called  her  a 
widow.     The  2;irl  Clara  was  called  hers  —  " 


518  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"  No.  Clara  was  Hawke's.  She  must  have  been  Hawke's 
daughter  by  his  first  wife,  the  niece  of  this  Winthrop." 

''She's  the  great  heiress,  then,"  broke  in  Quackinboss ; 
"she's  to  have  Peddar's  Clearin's,  and  the  whole  of  that 
track  beside  Grove's  River.  There  ain't  such  another  for- 
tune in  all  Ohio." 

"And  this  was  poor  Clara's  secret,"  said  Alfred  to  Quack- 
inboss, in  a  whisper,  "when  she  said,  '  I  only  know  that  I 
am  an  orphan,  and  that  my  name  is  not  Clara  Morris.' " 

' '  Do  you  think,  then,  sir,  that  such  a  rogue  as  that  fellow 
Trover  went  out  all  the  way  to  the  Western  States  to  make 
out  that  gal's  right  to  these  territories  ?  "  asked  Quackinboss, 
gravely. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He  went  to  rob  her,  to  cheat  her,  to  put 
forward  some  false  claim,  to  substitute  some  other  in  her 
place,"  cried  old  Layton.  "Who  is  to  say  if  he  himself 
be  not  the  man  Morris,  and  the  husband  of  our  fair  friend? 
He  may  have  fifty  names,  for  aught  we  know,  and  Morris  be 
one  of  them." 

"  You  told  me  that  Clara  had  been  made  over  to  a  certain 
Mr.  Stocmar,  to  prepare  her  for  the  stage,"  said  Alfred  to 
the  American.  But  before  he  could  reply  the  doctor  broke 
in,— 

' '  Stocmar,  —  Hyman  Stocmar,  of  the  Regent's  ?  " 

"The  same.     Do  you  know  him,  father?  " 

"  That  do  I,  and  well  too.     What  of  him?  " 

"It  was  to  his  care  this  young  lady  was  intrusted,"  said 
Alfred,  blushing  at  the  very  thought  of  alluding  to  her. 

"  If  there  should  be  dealings  with  Stocmar,  let  them  be 
left  to  me,"  said  the  doctor,  firmly.  "I  will  be  able  to 
make  better  terms  with  him  than  either  of  you." 

"  I  s'pose  you're  not  going  to  leave  a  gal  that 's  to  have 
a  matter  of  a  million  of  dollars  to  be  a  stage-player?  She 
ain't  need  to  rant,  and  screech,  and  tear  herself  to  pieces  at 
ten  or  fifteen  dollars  a  night  and  a  fi-ee  benefit." 

"First  to  find  her,  then  to  assert  her  rights,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"  How  are  we  to  find  her?  "  asked  Alfred. 

"  I  will  charge  myself  with  that  task,  but  we  must  be 
active  too,"  said   the  doctor.     "  I   half  suspect  that  I  see 


FOUND   OUT.  519 

the  Avhole  intrigue,  —  wh}'  this  woman  was  separated  from 
the  young  girl,  why  this  fellow  Trover  was  sent  across  the 
Atlantic,  and  what  means  that  story  of  the  large  fortune  so 
suddenly  left  to  "Winthrop." 

"  I  only  know  him  slightly,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  break- 
ing in,  "but  no  man  shall  say  a  word  against  Harvey  P. 
Winthrop  in  my  hearing." 

"You  mistake  me,"  rejoined  the  doctor.  "  It  would  be 
no  impugnment  of  my  honesty  that  some  one  bequeathed  me 
an  estate,  —  not  that  I  think  the  event  a  likely  one.  So  far 
as  I  can  surmise,  Winthrop  is  the  only  man  of  houor 
amongst  them." 

"  Glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  gravely. 
"It's  a  great  victory  over  national  prejudices  when  a  Brit- 
isher gets  to  say  so  much  for  one  of  our  people.  It 's  the 
grand  compensation  you  always  have  for  your  inferiority,  to 
call  our  sharpness  roguery." 

It  was  a  critical  moment  now,  and  it  needed  all  Alfred's 
readiness  and  address  to  separate  two  combatants  so  eager 
for  battle.  He  succeeded,  however,  and,  after  some  common- 
place conversation,  contrived  to  carry  his  father  away,  on 
pretence  of  an  engagement. 

"  You  should  have  let  me  smash  him,"  muttered  the  old 
man,  bitterly,  as  he  followed  him  from  the  room.  "  You 
should  have  given  me  fifteen  minutes, — ay,  ten.  I'd  not 
have  asked  more  than  ten  to  present  him  with  a  fin- 
ished picture  of  his  model  Republican,  in  dress,  manner, 
morals,  and  demeanor.  I  'd  have  said,  '  Here  is  what  I 
myself  have  seen — '" 

'•  And  I  would  have  stopped  you,"  broke  in  Alfred,  boldly, 
"  and  laid  my  hand  on  Quackinboss's  shoulder,  and  said, 
'  Here  is  what  I  have  known  of  America.  Here  is  one  who, 
without  other  tie  than  a  generous  pity,  nursed  me  through 
the  contagion  of  a  fever,  and  made  recovery  a  blessing  to 
me  by  his  friendship  after,  —  who  shared  heart  and  for- 
tune with  me  when  I  was  a  beggar  in  both.'" 

"  You  are  right,  boy,  — you  are  right.  How  hard  it  is  to 
crush  the  old  rebellious  spirit  in  one's  nature,  even  after  we 
have  lived  to  see  the  evil  it  has  worked  us  ! " 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE    manager's    ROOM    AT    THE    "  REGENT's." 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  the  two  Laytons  pre- 
sented themselves  at  the  private  door  of  the  "  Regent's." 
Mr.  Stoemar  had  returned  that  morning  from  Paris ;  he 
had  been  to  bed  for  an  hour,  and  was  now  dressed  and 
up,  but  so  busily  engaged  that  he  had  left  positive  orders 
to  be  denied  to  all  except  to  a  certain  high  personage  in  the 
royal  household,  and  a  noble  Lord,  whose  name  he  had 
given  to  the  porter. 

"  We  are  not  either  of  these,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling, 
"  but  I  am  a  very  old  friend,  whom  he  did  not  know  was  in 
England.  I  have  been  scores  of  times  here  with  him  ;  and 
to  prove  how  I  know  my  way  through  flats  and  side-scenes, 
I  '11  just  step  up  to  his  room  without  asking  you  to  conduct 
me."  These  pleadings  were  assisted  considerably  by  the  dex- 
terous insinuation  of  a  sovereign  into  the  man's  hand ;  and 
Lay  ton  passed  in,  with  his  son  after  him. 

True  to  his  word,  and  not  a  little  to  Alfred's  astonishment, 
the  doctor  threaded  his  way  through  many  a  dark  passage 
and  up  many  a  frail  stair,  till  he  reached  the  well-known,  well- 
remembered  door.  He  knocked  sharply,  but,  without  wait- 
ing for  reply,  turned  the  handle  and  entered.  Stoemar,  who 
stood  at  the  table  busily  breaking  the  seals  of  a  vast  heap  of 
letters,  turned  suddenly  around  and  stared  at  the  strangers 
with  mingled  surprise  and  displeasure. 

"  I  gave  positive  orders  that  I  could  not  receive  strangers," 
said  he,  haughtily.  "  May  I  ask  what  is  the  meaning  of  this 
intrusion?  " 

"  Yon  shall  know  in  a  few  moments,  sir,"  said  the  old  man, 
deliberately  taking  a  seat,  and  motioning  to  his  sou  to  do  the 
same.    "  My  business  could  be  transacted  with  yourself  alone, 


THE   MANAGER'S   ROOM  AT   THE  "REGENT'S"      521 

and  it  would  be  useless  referring  me  to  a  secretary  or  a  trea- 
surer.    I  have  come  here  with  my  sou  —  " 

"Oh,  the  old  story!"  broke  in  Stocmar.  "  The  young 
gentleman  is  stage-struck  ;  fancies  that  his  Hamlet  is  better 
than  Kean's  or  Macready's ;  but  I  have  no  time  for  this  sort 
of  thing.  The  golden  age  of  prodigies  is  gone  by,  and,  at 
all  events,  I  have  no  faith  in  it.  Make  an  apothecary  of 
him,  clerk  in  a  gas-works,  or  anj'thing  you  please,  only  don't 
come  here  to  bother  me,  you  understand ;  my  time  is  too  full 
for  these  negotiations." 

"  Have  you  done?  "  said  the  old  man,  fiercely. 

"  Done  with  yo«,  certainly,"  said  Stocmar,  moving  to- 
wards the  bell. 

"  That  you  have  not.  You  have  not  even  begun  with  me 
yet.     I  perceive  you  do  not  remember  me." 

"Remember  you!  I  never  saw  you  before,  and  I  trust 
most  sincerely  I  may  never  have  that  pleasure  agaiii.  An}-- 
thing  wrong  with  tiJe  old  party  here?"  whispered  he,  as  he 
turned  to  Alfred,  and  touched  his  finger  significantly  to  his 
forehead. 

"  Be  quiet,  boy  !  "  cried  Laytou,  fiercely,  as  his  son  started 
up  to  resent  the  insolence;  "he  shall  soon  learn  whether 
there  be  or  not.  Our  time,  sir,  if  not  so  profitable  as  yours, 
has  its  value  for  ourselves,  so  that  I  will  briefly  tell  you  what 
I  came  for.  I  want  the  addresses  of  two  persons  of  your 
acquaintance." 

"  This  is  beyond  endurance.  Am  I  to  be  the  victim  of 
every  twaddling  old  bore  that  requires  an  address?  Are 
you  aware,  sir,  that  I  don't  keep  an  agency  office  ? " 

With  a  calm  self-possession  which  amazed  his  son,  the 
old  man  quietly  said,  "I  want  this  address,  —  and  this." 
And  he  handed  Stocmar  a  card  with  two  names  written  in 
pencil. 

"'Clara  Hawke  '  —  and  who  is  Clara  Hawke?  I  never 
heard  of  her  till  now;  and  'Mrs.  Hawke'  too?  My  good 
friend,  this  is  some  self-delusion  of  yours.  Take  him  away 
quietly,  young  gentleman,  or  my  patience  will  not  stand  this 
any  longer.     I'll  send  for  a  policeman." 

"There  is  one  already  in  waiting,  sir."  said  old  Layton, 
fiercely,  "and  with  a  warrant  for  the  apprehension  of  Mr. 


522  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Hyman  Stocmar.  Ay,  sir,  our  laws  give  many  a  wide  mar- 
gin to  rascality,  but  slave-dealing  is  not  legalized  on  our 
soil.  Keep  your  laughter  for  the  end,  and  see  whether  it 
will  be  so  mirthful.  Of  that  crime  I  mean  to  accuse  you  in 
an  open  court,  the  victim  being  myself.  So,  then,  I  have 
refreshed  your  memory  a  little ;  you  begin  to  recognize  me 
now.  Ay,  sir,  it  is  the  professor,  your  old  slave,  stands 
before  you,  whom,  after  having  starved  and  cheated,  you 
put  drunk  on  board  a  sailing-ship,  and  packed  off  to  Amer- 
ica ;  sold,  too,  deliberately  sold,  for  a  sum  of  money. 
Every  detail  of  this  transaction  is  known  to  me,  and  shall 
be  attested  by  competent  witnesses.  My  memory  is  a  better 
one  than  you  suspect.  I  forget  nothing,  even  to  the  day 
and  the  hour  I  last  stood  in  this  room.  Yes,"  cried  he, 
turning  to  his  sou  and  addressing  him,  "  I  was  summoned 
here  to  be  exhibited  as  a  spectacle  to  a  visitor,  and  who, 
think  you,  was  the  distinguished  friend  to  whose  scrutiny  I 
was  to  be  subjected?  He  was  one  who  himself  had  enjoyed 
his  share  of  such  homage,  —  he  was  no  less  a  man  than  the 
famous  Paul  Hunt,  tried  at  Jersey  for  the  murder  of  God- 
frey Hawke,  and  how  acquitted  the  world  well  knows ;  and 
he  it  was  who  sat  here,  the  dear  friend  of  the  immaculate 
Mr.  Stocmar, — Mr.  Stocmar,  the  chosen  associate  of  lords 
and  ladies,  the  favored  guest  of  half  the  great  houses  in 
London.  Oh,  what  a  scandal  and  a  disgrace  is  here  !  You  'd 
rather  face  the  other  charge,  with  all  its  consequences,  than 
this  one.  Where  is  your  laughter  now,  Stocmar?  Where 
that  jocose  humor  you  indulged  in  ten  minutes  ago?" 

"  Look  here,  my  good  friend,"  cried  Stocmar,  suddenly 
starting  up  from  his  chair,  while  the  great  drops  of  sweat 
hung  on  his  forehead  and  trickled  along  his  pale  cheeks  ; 
"  don't  fancy  that  you  can  pit  yourself  against  me  before  the 
public.  I  have  station,  friends,  and  patrons  in  the  highest 
ranks  in  England." 

"  My  name  of  Herbert  Layton  will  suffice  for  all  that  I 
shall  ask  of  it.  When  the  true  history  of  our  connection 
shall  be  written  and  laid  before  the  world,  we  shall  see  which 
of  us  comes  best  out  of  the  ordeal." 

"  This,  then,  is  a  vengeance!"  said  Stocmar,  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 


THE   MANAGER'S   ROOM  AT  THE   "REGENT'S."      523 

"  Not  if  yon  do  uot  drive  me  to  it.  There  never  were 
easier  terms  to  escape  a  heavy  penalty.  Give  me  the  address 
of  these  persons." 

"•  But  I  know  nothing  of  them.  I  have  not,  amongst  my 
whole  acquaintance,  one  named  Hawke." 

The  old  man  made  no  reply,  and  looked  puzzled  and  con- 
fused.    Stocmar  saw  his  advantage,  and  hastily  added,  — 

"  I  am  ready  to  pledge  you  my  oath  to  this." 

"Ask  him,  then,  for  the  address  of  Mrs.  Penthony 
Morris,  father,  and  of  the  young  lady  her  reputed  daughter," 
interposed  Alfred. 

"  Ay,  what  say  you  to  this?" 

"What  I  say  is,  that  I  am  not  here  to  be  questioned  as 
to  the  whereabouts  of  every  real  or  imaginary  name  you  can 
think  of." 

"  Restive  again,  Stocmar?  What,  are  you  so  bent  on 
your  own  ruin  that  you  will  exhaust  the  patience  of  one 
who  never  could  boast  too  much  of  that  quality  ?  I  tell  you 
that  if  I  leave  this  room  without  a  full  and  explicit  answer 
to  my  demand,  —  and  in  writing,  too,  in  your  own  hand, 
—  you  '11  not  see  me  again  except  as  your  prosecutor  in  a 
court  of  justice.  And  now,  for  the  last  time,  where  is  this 
woman?  " 

"She  was  in  Italy;  at  Rome  all  the  winter,"  said  Stocmar, 
doggedly. 

"I  know  that.     And  now?" 

"In  Germany,  I  believe," 

"That  is,  you  know,  and  the  place  too.  Write  it 
there." 

"Before  I  do  so,  you  '11  give  me,  under  your  own  hand, 
a  formal  release  from  this  trumpery  charge,  whose  worst 
consequence  would  be  my  appearing  in  public  to  answer 
it." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind ;  not  a  line  to  that  effect.  I  '11  keep 
it  over  you  till  the  whole  of  the  business  we  are  engaged  in 
be  completed.  Ay,  sir,  you  shall  not  be  exposed  to  the 
evil  temptation  to  turn  upon  me.  We  have  affairs  to  settle 
which  will  require  our  meeting  with  this  woman,  and  as  we 
live  in  an  age  of  telegraphs,  you  shall  not  be  able  to  warn 
her  that  we  are  coming;  for  if  you  do,  I  swear  to  you  more 


624  ONE   OF  THEM. 

solemnly  than  you  swore  awhile  back  to  me,  that  I  '11  biing 
such  disgrace  upon  your  head  that  you  '11  walk  the  streets  of 
this  city  as  wretched  au  object  as  /  was  when  I  slept  in  that 
dog-hole  behind  the  fire-engine." 

"You  '11  do  nothing  with  me  by  your  threats,  old  man." 

"Everything,  all  I  ask,  by  what  my  threats  can  accom- 
plish. Remember,  besides,  all  that  we  require  of  you  will 
only  serve  to  shorten  a  road  that  we  are  determined  to  go. 
You  can  only  help  us  so  far.     The  rest  lies  with  ourselves." 

"Her  address  is  Gebhardts-Berg,  Bregenz,"  said  Stocmar, 
in  a  low  muttering  voice. 

"AVrite  it,  sir;  write  it  there,"  said  the  doctor,  pointing 
to  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the  table. 

"There,  is  that  enough?"  said  Stocmar,  as  he  wrote  the 
words,  and  flung  down  the  pen. 

"No,  there  is  yet  the  other.     Where  is  Clara  Hawke?" 

"As  to  her,  I  ma}'  as  well  tell  you  she  is  bound  to  me  by 
au  indenture;  I  have  been  at  the  charge  of  her  instruction, 
and  can  onl}'  be  repaid  b}^  her  successes  hereafter  —  " 

"More  of  the  slave  market!  "  broke  in  the  doctor.  "But 
to  the  question.  Who  sold  her  to  you?  She  had  neither 
father  nor  mother.  With  whom  did  you  make  your  com- 
pact? Bethink  you  these  are  points  you  '11  have  to  answer 
very  openly,  and  with  i-eporters  for  the  daily  press  amongst 
the  company  who  listen  to  you.  Such  treaties  being  made 
public  may  lead  to  many  an  awkward  disclosure.  It  were 
wiser  not  to  provoke  them." 

"I  do  not  see  why  I  am  to  incur  a  positive  loss  of 
money  —  " 

"Only  for  this  reason,  that  as  you  thought  proper  to  buy 
without  a  title,  you  may  relinquish  without  compensation. 
But  come,  we  will  deal  with  you  better  than  you  deserve. 
If  it  be,  as  I  believe,  this  young  lady's  lot  to  inherit  a  large 
fortune,  I  will  do  my  utmost  to  induce  her  to  repay  you  all 
that  you  have  incurred  in  her  behalf.  Will  that  satisfy 
you?" 

"It  might,  if  I  were  not  equally  certain  that  you  have 
not  the  slightest  grounds  for  the  expectation.  I  know 
enough  of  her  story  to  be  aware  that  there  is  not  one  from 
whom  she  expects  a  shilling." 


THE   MANAGER'S   ROOM   AT  THE   "REGENT'S."      525 

"Every  day  and  hour  brings  us  great  surprises;  nothing 
was  less  looked  for  by  the  great  Mr.  Stocmar  this  morning 
than  a  visit  from  me,  and  yet  it  has  come  to  pass." 

"And  iu  whose  interest,  may  I  ask,  are  you  taking  all 
this  trouble?  —  how  is  it  incumbent  on  you  to  mix  yourself 
up  in  questions  of  a  family  to  which  you  do  not  belong,  nor 
are  even  known  to?'' 

"If  I  can  only  fashion  to  myself  a  pretext  for  your  ques- 
tion, I  would  answer  it ;  but  to  the  matter,  —  write  the 
address  there."     And  he  pointed  to  the  paper. 

Stocmar  obeyed,  and  wrote,  "The  Conservatoire,  at 
Milan." 

"I  may  warn  you,"  added  he,  "that  Mademoiselle  Clara 
Stocmar,  for  as  such  is  she  inscribed,  will  not  be  given  up 
to  you,  or  to  any  one  save  myself,  or  by  my  order." 

"I  am  aware  of  that,  and  therefoi-e  you  will  write  this 
order.  Mr.  Stocmar,  you  need  not  be  told  by  me  that  the 
fact  of  this  girl  being  an  English  subject  once  admitted,  the 
law  of  this  country  will  take  little  heed  of  the  regulations 
of  a  musical  academy;  save  yourself  this  publicity,  and 
write  as  I  tell  you." 

Stocmar  wrote  some  hurried  lines  and  signed  them. 
"Will  that  do?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  he,  folding  up  both  papers,  and  placing 
them  in  his  pocket.  "Now,  Mr.  Stocmar,  thus  far  has  been 
all  business  between  us.  You  have  done  me  a  small  service, 
and  for  it  I  am  willing  to  forgive  a  great  wrong ;  still,  it  is 
a  fair  bargain.  Let  us  see,  however,  if  we  cannot  carry 
our  dealings  a  little  further.  Here  is  a  case  where  a  dread- 
ful scandal  will  be  unburied,  and  one  of  the  most  fearful 
crimes  be  brought  again  before  public  notice,  to  herald  the 
narrative  of  an  infamous  fraud.  I  am  far  from  suspecting 
or  insinuating  that  you  have  had  any  great  part  whatever 
in  these  transactions,  but  I  know  that  when  once  they  have 
become  town  talk,  Hyman  Stocmar  will  figure  as  a  prominent 
name  throughout.  He  will  not  appear  as  a  murderer  or  a 
forger,  it  is  true,  but  he  will  stand  forward  the  intimate 
friend  of  the  worst  characters  in  the  piece,  and  have  always 
some  small  petty  share  of  complicity  to  answer  for.  Is  it 
not  worth  while  to  escape  such  an  open  exposure  as  this? 


526  ONE  OF  THEM. 

What  man  —  least  of  all,  what  man  moving  where  you  do  — 
could  court  such  scandal?" 

Stocmar  made  no  auswer,  but,  leaning  his  head  on  his 
hand,  seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"I  can  show  you  how  to  avoid  it  all,  I  will  point  out  the 
way  to  escape  from  the  whole  difficulty." 

"How  do  you  mean?"  cried  Stocmar,  suddenly. 

"Leave  the  knaves  and  come  over  to  the  honest  men;  or 
desert  the  losing  side  and  back  the  winner,  if  you  like  that 
better.  In  plain  English,  tell  me  all  you  know  of  this  case, 
and  of  every  one  concerned  in  it.  Give  me  your  honest 
version  of  the  scheme,  —  how  it  has  been  done  and  by  whom. 
You  know  Trover  and  Hunt  well ;  say  what  were  their  sepa- 
rate shares.  I  will  not  betray  your  confidence;  and  if  I 
can,  I  will  reward  it." 

"Let  your  son  leave  us.  I  will  speak  to  you  alone,"  said 
Stocmar,  in  a  faint  whisper. 

Alfred,  at  a  signal  from  his  father,  stepped  quietly  away, 
and  they  were  alone. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  doctor  arose  to  take 
his  departure,  and,  though  somewhat  wearied,  his  look  was 
elated,  and  his  face  glowed  with  an  expression  of  haughty 
satisfaction,  such  as  it  might  have  worn  after  a  collegiate 
triumph  years  and  years  ago. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

MR.     O'SHEA    AT    BADEN. 

Although  Mr.  O'Shea  be  not  one  of  the  most  foreground 
figures  in  this  piece,  we  are  obliged  to  follow  his  fortunes 
for  a  brief  space,  and  at  a  moment  when  our  interests  would 
more  naturally  call  us  in  another  direction.  Thus,  at  a 
dinner-party,  will  it  occasionally  happen  that  our  attention 
is  engaged  on  one  side,  while  our  sympathies  incline  to  the 
other;  so,  in  life,  the  self-same  incident  continues  to  occur. 
"We  have  said  that  he  had  many  a  sore  misgiving  about 
the  enterprise  he  was  engaged  in.  He  felt  that  he  was 
walking  completely  in  the  dark,  and  towards  what  he  knew 
not.  Mrs.  Morris  was,  doubtless,  a  clever  pilot,  but  she 
might  mistake  the  course,  she  might  go  wrong  in  her  sound- 
ings, and,  lastly,  she  m  ight  chance  to  be  on  the  shore  when 
the  ship  was  scuttled.  These  were  dire  mistrusts,  not  to  say 
very  ungallant  suspicions,  to  haunt  the  heart  and  the  head 
of  a  bridegroom ;  but  —  alas !  that  we  must  own  it  —  Mr. 
O'Shea  now  occupied  that  equatorial  position  in  life  equally 
distant  from  the  zones  of  youth  and  age,  where  men  are 
most  worldly,  and  disposed  to  take  the  most  practical  views 
of  whatever  touches  their  interests.  It  was  very  hard  for 
him  to  believe  that  a  woman  of  such  consummate  cleverness 
as  the  widow  had  ever  written  a  line  that  could  compromise 
her.  He  took  a  man's  view  of  the  question,  and  fancied 
that  a  cool  head  is  always  cool,  and  a  calculating  heart 
always  alive  to  its  arithmetic.  These  letters,  therefore, 
most  probably  referred  to  money  transactions ;  they  were,  in 
fact,  either  bills,  or  securities,  or  promises  to  pay,  under 
circumstances,  possibly,  not  the  pleasantest  to  make  public. 
In  such  affairs  he  had  always  deemed  a  compromise  the  best 
course ;  why  had  she  not  given  him  a  clearer  insight  into 


628  ONE   OF  THEM. 

his  uiissiou?  In  fact,  he  was  sailing  with  sealed  orders,  to 
be  opened  only  on  reaching  a  certain  latitude.  "At  all 
events,  I  can  do  nothing  till  she  writes  to  me ;  "  and  with 
this  grain  of  comfort  he  solaced  himself  as  he  went  along 
his  road,  trying  to  feel  at  ease,  and  doing  his  utmost  to 
persuade  himself  that  he  was  a  lucky  fellow,  and  "on  the 
best  thing  "  that  had  ever  turned  up  in  his  life. 

It  is  unpleasant  for  us  to  make  the  confession,  but  in  his 
heart  of  hearts  Mr.  O'Shea  thought  of  a  mode  of  guiding 
himself  thi'ough  his  difficulties,  which  assuredly  was  little 
in  keeping  with  the  ardor  of  a  devoted  lover.  The  ex- 
Member  for  Inch  was  a  disciple  of  that  sect  —  not  a  very 
narrow  one  —  which  firmly  believes  that  men  have  a  sort  of 
masonic  understanding  amongst  them  always  to  be  true  to 
each  other  against  a  woman,  and  that  out  of  a  tacit  compact 
of  mutual  protection  they  will  always  stand  by  each  other 
against  the  common  enemy.  If,  therefore,  he  could  make 
Paten's  acquaintance,  be  intimate  with  him,  and  on  terms 
of  confidence,  he  might  learn  all  the  bearings  of  this  case, 
and  very  probably  get  no  inconsiderable  insight  into  the 
fair  widow's  life  and  belongings. 

Amidst  a  vast  conflict  of  such  thoughts  as  these  he  rolled 
along  over  the  Spliigen  Alps,  down  the  Via  Mala,  and 
arrived  at  last  at  Baden.  The  season  was  at  its  full  flood. 
There  were  a  brace  of  kings  there,  and  a  whole  covey  of 
Serene  Highnesses,  not  to  speak  of  flocks  of  fashionables 
from  every  laud  of  Europe.  There  was  plenty  of  gossip,  — 
the  gossip  of  polities,  of  play,  of  private  scandal.  The 
well-dressed  world  was  amusing  itself  at  the  top  of  its 
bent,  and  every  one  speaking  ill  of  his  neighbor  to  his  own 
heart's  content.  Whatever,  however,  may  be  the  grand 
event  of  Europe,  —  the  outbreak  of  a  war,  or  a  revolution, 
the  dethronement  of  a  king,  or  the  murder  of  an  emperor, 
—  at  such  places  as  these  the  smallest  incident  of  local 
origin  will  far  out-top  it  in  interest;  and  so,  although  the 
world  at  this  moment  had  a  very  fair  share  of  momentous 
questions  at  issue,  Baden  had  only  tongues  and  ears  for 
one,  and  that  was  the  lucky  dog  that  went  on  breaking  the 
bank  at  rouge-et-noir  about  twice  a  week. 

Ludlow  Paten  was  the  man  of  the  day.     Now  it  was  his 


MR.   O'SHEA   AT  BADEN.  529 

equipage,  his  horses;  now  it  was  the  company  he  enter- 
tained at  dinner  yesterday,  the  fabulous  sum  he  had  given 
for  a  diamond  ring,  the  incredible  offer  he  had  made  for  a 
ducal  palace  on  the  Rhine.  Around  these  and  such-like 
narratives  there  floated  a  sort  of  atmosphere  of  an  imagina- 
tive order:  how  he  had  made  an  immense  wager  to  win  a 
certain  sum  by  a  certain  day,  and  now  only  wanted  some 
trifle  of  ten  or  twelve  thousand  pounds  to  complete  it ;  how, 
if  he  continued  to  break  the  bank  so  many  times  more,  M. 
Beunasset,  the  proprietor,  was  to  give  him  fifty  thousand 
francs  a  year  for  life  to  buy  him  off,  with  twenty  other  vari- 
ations on  these  themes  as  to  the  future  application  of  the 
money,  some  averring  it  was  to  ransom  his  wife  from  the 
Moors,  and  others,  as  positively,  to  pay  off  a  sum  with 
which  he  had  absconded  in  his  youth  from  a  great  banking- 
house  in  London;  and,  last  of  all,  a  select  few  had  revived 
the  old  diabolic  contract  on  his  behalf,  and  were  firm  in 
declaring  that  after  he  retired  to  his  room  at  night  he  was 
heard  for  hours  counting  over  his  gains,  and  disputing  with 
the  Evil  One,  who  always  came  for  his  share  of  the  booty, 
and  rigidly  insisted  on  having  it  in  gold.  Now,  it  was 
strange  enough  that  these  last,  however  wild  the  superstruc- 
ture of  their  belief,  had  really  a  small  circumstance  in  their 
favor,  which  was  that  Paten  had  been  met  with  three  or 
four  times  in  most  unfrequented  places,  walking  with  a  man 
of  very  wretched  appearance  and  most  forbidding  aspect, 
who  covered  his  face  when  looked  at,  and  was  only  to  be 
caught  sight  of  by  stealth.  The  familiar,  as  he  was  now 
called,  had  been  seen  by  so  many  that  all  doubt  as  to  his 
existence  was  quite  removed. 

These  were  the  stories  which  met  O'Shea  on  his  arrival, 
and  which  formed  the  table-talk  of  the  hotel  he  dined  in; 
narratives,  of  course,  graced  with  all  the  illustrative  powers 
of  those  who  told  them.  One  fact,  however,  impressed 
itself  strongly  on  his  mind,  —  that  with  a  man  so  over- 
whelmed by  the  favors  of  Fortune,  any  chance  of  forming 
acquaintance  casually  was  out  of  the  question.  If  he  were 
cleaned  out  of  his  last  Napoleon,  one  could  know  him  read- 
ily enough;  but  to  the  fellow  who  can  break  the  bank  at 
will,  archdukes  and  princes  are  the  only  intimates.  Ilia 
;J4 


530  ONE   OF   THEM. 

first  care  was  to  learn  his  appearance.  Nor  bad  he  long  to 
wait;  the  vacant  chair  beside  the  croupier  marked  the  place 
reserved  for  the  great  player,  whose  game  alone  occupied 
the  attention  of  the  bystanders,  and  whose  gains  and  losses 
were  all  marked  and  recorded  by  an  expectant  public. 
"Here  he  comes!  That  is  he,  leaning  on  the  Prince  of 
Tours,  the  man  with  the  large  beard !  "  whispered  a  person 
in  O'Shea's  hearing;  and  now  a  full,  large  man,  over- 
weighty,  as  it  seemed,  for  his  years,  pushed  the  crowd  care- 
lessly aside,  and  seated  himself  at  the  table.  The  low 
murmur  that  went  round  showed  that  the  great  event  of  the 
evening  was  about  to  "come  off,"  and  that  the  terrible  con- 
flict of  Luck  against  Luck  was  now  to  be  fought  out. 

More  intent  upon  regarding  the  man  himself  than  caring 
to  observe  his  game,  O'Shea  stationed  himself  in  a  position 
to  watch  his  features,  scan  their  whole  expression,  and 
mark  every  varying  change  impressed  upon  them.  His 
experience  of  the  world  had  made  him  a  tolerable  physiog- 
nomist, and  he  read  the  man  before  him  reasonably  well. 
"He  is  not  a  clever  fellow,"  thought  he,  "he  is  only  a  reso- 
lute one;  and,  even  as  such,  not  persistent.  Still,  he  will 
be  very  hard  to  deal  with;  he  distrusts  every  man."  Just 
as  O'Shea  was  thus  summing  up  to  himself,  an  exclamation 
from  the  crowd  startled  him.  The  stranger  had  lost  an 
immense  "coup;"  the  accumulation  of  five  successful 
passes  had  been  swept  away  at  once,  and  several  minutes 
were  occupied  in  counting  the  enormous  pile  of  Napoleons 
be  had  pushed  across  the  table. 

The  player  sat  apparently  unmoved;  bis  face,  so  far  as 
beard  and  moustache  permitted  it  to  be  seen,  was  calm  and 
impassive;  but  O'Shea  remarked  a  fidgety  uneasiness  in  his 
bands,  and  a  fevered  impatience  in  the  way  he  continued  to 
draw  off  and  on  a  ring  which  he  wore  on  bis  finger.  The 
game  began  again,  but  he  did  not  bet;  and  murmuring 
comments  around  the  room  went  on,  some  averring  that  he 
was  a  bad  loser,  who  never  bad  nerve  for  his  reverses,  and 
others  as  stoutly  maintaining  that  be  was  such  a  consum- 
mate master  of  himself  that  be  was  never  carried  away  by 
impulse,  but,  seeing  fortune  unfavorable,  bad  firmness 
enough  to  endure  bis  present  defeat,  and  wait  for  a  better 


MR.   O'SHEA   AT  BADEN.  531 

moment.  Gradually  the  interest  of  the  bystanders  took 
some  other  direction,  and  Paten  was  unobserved,  as  he  sat, 
to  all  seeming,  inattentive  to  everything  that  went  on  before 
him.  Suddenly,  however,  he  placed  twenty  thousand  francs 
in  notes  upon  the  table,  and  said,  "Red."  The  "Black" 
won ;  and  he  pushed  back  his  chair,  arose,  and  strolled  care- 
lessly into  another  room. 

O'Shea  followed  him;  he  saw  him  chatting  away  pleas- 
antly with  some  of  his  most  illustrious  friends,  laughingly 
telling  how  unfortunate  he  had  been,  and  in  sportive  vein 
declaring  that,  from  the  very  fact  of  her  sex,  a  man  should 
not  trust  too  much  to  P'ortune.  "I  '11  go  and  play  dominoes 
with  the  Archduchess  of  Lindau,"  said  he,  laughing;  "it 
will  be  a  cheap  pleasure  even  if  I  lose."  And  he  moved  off 
towards  a  smaller  salon,  where  the  more  exclusive  of  the 
guests  were  accustomed  to  assemble. 

Not  caring  to  attract  attention  by  appearing  in  a  com- 
pany where  he  was  not  known  to  any,  O'Shea  sauntered  out 
into  the  garden,  and,  tempted  by  the  fresh  night  air,  sat 
down.  Chilled  after  a  while,  he  resolved  to  take  a  brisk 
walk  before  bed-time,  and  set  out  in  the  avenue  which  leads 
to  Lichtenthal.  He  had  plenty  to  think  of,  and  the  time 
favored  reflection.  On  and  on  he  went  at  a  smart  pace, 
the  activity  of  mind  suggesting  activity  of  body,  and, 
before  he  knew  it,  had  strolled  some  miles  from  Baden, 
and  found  himself  on  the  rise  of  the  steep  ascent  that  leads 
to  Eberstein.  He  was  roused,  indeed,  from  his  musings 
by  the  passage  of  a  one-horse  carriage  quite  close  to  him, 
and  which,  having  gained  a  piece  of  level  ground,  drew  up. 
The  door  was  quickly  opened,  and  a  man  got  out;  the 
moonlight  was  full  upon  his  figure,  and  O'Shea  saw  it  was 
Paten.  He  looked  around  for  a  second  or  two,  and  then 
entered  the  wood.  O'Shea  determined  to  explore  the  mean- 
ing of  the  mystery,  and,  crossing  the  low  edge,  at  once  fol- 
lowed him.  Guided  by  the  light  of  the  cigar  which  Paten 
was  smoking,  O'Shea  tracked  him  till  he  perceived  him  to 
come  to  a  halt,  and  immediately  after  heard  the  sound  of 
voices.  The  tone  was  angry  and  imperious  on  both  sides, 
and,  in  intense  eagerness,  O'Shea  drew  nigher  and  nigher. 

"None  of  your  nonsense  with  me,"  said  a  firm  and  reso- 


532  ONE   OF  THEM. 

lute  voice.  ''I  know  well  how  much  you  believe  of  such 
trumpery." 

"I  tell  you  again  that  I  do  believe  it.  As  certain  as  I 
give  you  mouey,  so  certain  am  I  to  lose.  Thursday  week  I 
gave  you  five  Naps ;  I  lost  that  same  night  seventy  thousand 
francs;  on  Wednesday  last  the  same  thing;  and  to-night 
two  thousand  Napoleons  are  gone.  You  swore  to  me,  be- 
sides, so  late  as  yesterday,  that  if  I  gave  you  twenty  Louis, 
you  'd  leave  Baden,  to  go  back  to  England." 

"So  I  would,  but  1  've  lost  it.  I  went  in  at  roulette,  and 
came  out  without  sixpence;  and  I  'm  sure  it  was  not  lend- 
ing brought  bad  luck  upon  me"  added  he,  with  a  bitter 
laugh. 

"Then  may  I  be  cursed  in  all  I  do,  if  I  give  you  another 
fraction!  You  think  to  terrify  me  by  exposure;  but  who  '11 
stand  that  test  best, —  the  man  who  can  draw  on  his  banker 
for  five  thousand  pounds,  or  the  outcast  who  can't  pay  for 
his  dinner?  Let  the  world  know  the  worst  of  me,  and  say 
the  worst  of  me,  I  can  live  without  it,  and  you  may  die  on 
a  dunghill." 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  we  're  come  to  this  at  last.  Baden  shall 
know  to-morrow  morning  the  whole  story,  and  you  will  see 
how  many  will  sit  down  at  the  same  table  with  you.  You  're 
a  fool  —  you  always  were  a  fool  —  to  insult  a  man  as  reck- 
less as  I  am.  What  have  I  to  lose?  They  can't  try  me, 
over  again  any  more  than  you.  But  you  can  be  shunned 
and  cut  by  your  fine  acquaintances,  turned  out  of  clubs, 
disowned  on  every  hand  —  " 

"Look  here,  Collier,"  broke  in  Paten;  "I  have  heard  all 
that  rubbish  fifty  times  from  you,  but  it  does  n't  terrify  me. 
The  man  that  can  live  as  I  do  need  never  want  friends  or 
acquaintances ;  the  starving  beggar  it  is  who  has  no  com- 
panionship. Let  us  start  fair  to-morrow,  as  you  threaten, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  week  let  us  square  accounts,  and  see 
who  has  the  best  of  it." 

"I  '11  go  into  the  rooms  when  they  are  most  crowded,  and 
I  '11  say,  '  The  man  yonder,  who  calls  himself  Ludlow  Paten, 
is  Paul  Hunt,  the  acccomplice  of  Towers,  that  was  hanged 
for  the  murder  of  Godfrey  Hawke,  at  Jersey.  My  name  is 
Collier;  I  never   changed  it.     I,  too,  was  in  the  dock  on 


ME.   O'SHEA  AT   BADEN.  533 

that  day.  Here  we  stand, —  be  in  fine  clothes,  and  I  in  rags, 
but  not  so  very  remote  as  externals  bespeak  us. '  " 

"In  two  hours  after  I'd  have  you  sent  over  the  frontier 
with  a  gendarme,  as  a  vagabond,  and  without  means  of 
support,  and  I  'd  be  travelling  post  to  Italy." 

"To  see  the  widow,  I  hope;  to  prosecute  the  wretched 
woman  who  once  in  her  life  thought  you  were  not  a 
scoundrel." 

"Ay,  and  marry  her,  too,  my  respected  friend,  if  the 
intelligence  can  give  you  pleasure  to  hear  it.  I  'm  sorry  we 
can't  ask  you  to  the  wedding." 

"No,  that  you'll  not;  she  knows  you,  and  while  you 
cheated  every  one  of  us,  she  discovered  you  to  be  the  mean 
fellow  you  are, —  I'eady,  as  she  said,  to  have  a  share  in  every 
enterprise,  provided  you  were  alwa^'s  spared  the  peril.  Do 
you  recognize  the  portrait  there,  Paul  Hunt,  and  can  you 
guess  the  painter?  " 

"If  she  ever  made  the  speech,  she  '11  live  to  rue  it." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  man.  That  woman  is  your  master. 
You  did  your  very  best  to  terrify  her,  but  you  never  suc- 
ceeded. She  dares  you  openly;  and  if  I  have  to  make  the 
journey  on  foot,  I  '11  seek  her  out  in  Italy,  and  say,  '  Here 
is  one  who  has  the  same  hate  in  his  heart  that  you  have,  and 
has  less  hold  on  life;  help  him  to  our  common  object.'  It 's 
not  a  cool  head  will  be  wanting  in  such  a  moment;  so,  look 
out  ahead.  Master  Paul." 

"You  hint  at  a  game  that  two  can  play  at." 

"Ay,  but  you  're  not  one  of  them.  You  were  always  a 
coward." 

A  savage  oath,  and  something  like  the  noise  of  a  struggle, 
followed.  Neither  spoke;  but  now  O'Shea  could  distinctly 
mark,  by  the  crashing  of  the  brushwood,  that  they  had  either 
both  fallen  to  the  ground,  or  that  one  had  got  the  other 
under.  Before  he  could  resolve  what  course  to  take,  the 
sharp  report  of  a  pistol  rung  out,  the  hasty  rustle  of  a  man 
forcing  through  the  trees  followed,  and  then  all  was  still. 
It  was  not  till  after  some  minutes  that  he  determined  to  go 
forward.  A  few  steps  brought  him  to  the  place,  where  in  a 
little  alley  of  the  wood  lay  a  man  upon  his  face.  He  felt 
his  wrist,  and  then,  turning  him  on  his  back,  laid  his  hand 


534  ONE  OF  THEM. 

on  the  heart.  All  was  still;  he  was  warm,  as  if  in  life,  but 
life  had  fled  forever!  A  faint  streak  of  moonlight  had  now 
just  fallen  upon  the  spot,  and  he  saw  it  was  Ludlow  Paten 
who  lay  there.  The  ball  had  entered  his  left  side,  and 
probably  pierced  the  heart,  so  instantaneous  had  been  his 
death.  While  O'Shea  was  thus  engaged  in  tracing  the  fatal 
wound,  a  heavy  pocket-book  fell  from  the  breast-pocket.  He 
opened  it ;  its  contents  were  a  packet  of  letters,  tied  with  a 
string ;  he  could  but  see  that  they  bore  the  address  of  Paul 
Hunt,  but  he  divined  the  rest.  They  were  hers.  The  great 
prize,  for  which  he  himself  was  ready  to  risk  life,  was  now 
his  own ;  and  he  hastened  away  from  the  place,  and  turned 
with  all  speed  towards  Baden. 

It  was  not  yet  daybreak  when  he  got  back,  and,  gaining 
his  room,  locked  the  door.  He  knew  not  why  he  did  so,  but 
in  the  fear  and  turmoil  of  his  mind  he  dreaded  the  possibility 
of  seeing  or  being  seen.  He  feared,  besides,  lest  some  chance 
word  might  escape  him,  some  vague  phrase  might  betray  him 
as  the  witness  of  a  scene  he  resolved  never  to  disclose.  Some- 
times, indeed,  as  he  sat  there,  he  would  doubt  the  whole  inci- 
dent, and  question  whether  it  had  not  been  the  phantasm  of 
an  excited  brain;  but  there  before  him  on  the  table  lay  the 
letters;  there  they  were,  the  terrible  evidences  of  the  late 
crime,  and  perhaps  the  proofs  of  guilt  in  another  too! 

This  latter  thought  nearly  drove  him  distracted.  There 
before  him  lay  what  secured  to  him  the  prize  he  sought  for, 
and  yet  what,  for  aught  he  knew,  might  contain  what  would 
render  that  object  a  shame  and  a  disgrace.  It  lay  with  him- 
self to  know  this.  Once  in  her  possession,  he,  of  course, 
•could  never  know  the  contents,  or  if  by  chance  discovery 
came,  it  might  come  too  late.  He  reasoned  long  and  anx- 
iously with  himself;  he  tried  to  satisfy  his  mind  that  there 
were  cases  in  which  self-preservation  absolved  a  man  from 
what  in  less  critical  emergencies  had  been  ignominious  to 
do.  He  asked  himself,  "Would  not  a  man  willingly  burn 
the  documents  whose  production  would  bring  him  to  disgrace 
and  ruin?  and,  by  the  same  rule,  would  not  one  eagerly 
explore  those  which  might  save  him  from  an  irreparable 
false  step?  At  all  events,"  thought  he,  "Fortune  has 
thrown  the  chance  in  my  way,  and  so  —  "     He  read  them. 


'Wi 


^■^^fes 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    COTTAGE    NEAR   BREGENZ. 

There  was  something  actually  artistic  in  the  choice  old 
Holmes  had  made  for  his  daughter's  residence  near  Bregeuz. 
It  was  an  old-fashioned  farmhouse,  with  a  deep  eave,  and  a 
massive  cornice  beneath  it.  A  wooden  gallery  ran  the  entire 
length,  with  a  straggling  stair  to  it,  overgrown  with  a  very 
ancient  fig-tree,  whose  privilege  it  was  to  interweave  through 
the  balustrades,  and  even  cross  the  steps  at  will^  the  whole 
nearly  hidden  by  the  fine  old  chestmit-trees  which  clothe  the 
Gebhardts-Berg  to-  its  very  summit.  It  was  the  sort  of  spot 
a  lone  and  sorrowing  spirit  might  have  sought  out  to  weep 
away  unseen,  to  commune  with  grief  in  solitude,  and  know 
nothing  of  a  world  she  was  no  more  to  share  in.  The 
simple-hearted  peasants  who  accepted  them  as  lodgers  asked 
no  reason  for  their  selection  of  the  place,  nor  were  they  likely, 
in  their  strange  dialect,  to  be  able  to  discuss  the  point  with 
others,  save  their  neighbors.  The  chief  room,  which  had 
three  windows  opening  on  a  little  terrace,  looked  out  upon 
a  glorious  panorama  of  the  Swiss  Alps,  with  the  massive 
mountains  that  lead  to  the  Spliigeu  ;  and  it  was  at  one  of 
these  Mrs.  Morris  —  or  rather,  to  give  her  that  name  by 
which  for  the  last  few  pages  of  our  story  she  may  be  called, 
Mrs.  Hawke — now  sat,  as  the  sun  was  sinking,  watching 
with  an  unfeigned  enjoyment  the  last  gorgeous  tints  of 
declining  day  upon  the  snow  peaks. 

Perhaps  at  that  moment  the  sense  of  repose  was  the  most 
gi-ateful  of  all  sensations  to  her,  for  she  had  passed  through 
a  long  day  of  excitement  and  fatigue.  Like  a  great  actress 
who  had,  in  her  impersonation  of  a  difficult  part,  called  forth 
all  her  powers  of  voice,  look,  and  gesture,  straining  every 
fibre  to  develop  to  the  utmost  the  passion  she  would  convey, 


536  ONE   OF  THEM. 

and  tearing  her  very  heart  to  show  its  agony,  she  was  now 
to  feel  the  terrible  depression  of  reaction,  the  dreary  void  of 
the  solitude  around  her,  and  the  death-like  stillness  of  her 
own  subdued  emotions.  But  yet,  through  all  this,  there  was 
a  rapturous  enjoyment  in  the  thought  of  a  task  accomplished, 
an  ordeal  passed. 

On  that  same  morning  it  was  Trover  had  arrived  with  Mr. 
Winthrop,  and  her  first  meeting  took  place  with  the  friend  of 
her  late  husband,  —  perhaps  the  one  living  being  whom  alone 
of  all  the  world  she  felt  a  sort  of  terror  at  seeing.  The  fear 
he  inspired  was  vague,  and  not  altogether  reasonable ;  but 
it  was  there,  and  she  could  not  master  it.  Till  she  met  him, 
indeed,  it  almost  overcame  her ;  but  when  she  found  him  a 
mild  old  man,  of  gentle  manners  and  a  quiet  presence,  un- 
suspecting and  frank,  and  extending  towards  her  a  compas- 
sionate protection,  she  rallied  quickly  from  her  fears,  and 
played  out  her  part  courageously. 

How  affecting  was  her  grief !  It  was  one  of  those  touch- 
ing pictures  which,  while  they  thrill  the  heart,  never  harrow 
the  feelings.  It  was  sorrow  made  beautiful,  rather  than  dis- 
tressing. Time,  of  course,  long  years,  had  dulled  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  woe,  and  only  cast  the  sombre  coloring  of  sad- 
ness over  a  nature  that  might  have  been — who  knows?  — 
made  for  joy  and  brightness.  Unused  to  such  scenes,  the 
honest  American  could  only  sit  in  a  sort  of  admiring  pity  of 
such  a  victim  to  an  early  sorrow ;  so  fair  a  creature  robbed 
of  her  just  meed  of  this  world's  happiness,  and  by  a  terrible 
destiny  linked  with  an  awful  event!  And  how  lovely  she 
was  through  it  all,  how  forgiving  of  that  man's  cruelty !  He 
knew  Hawke  well,  and  he  was  no  stranger  to  the  trials  a 
woman  must  have  gone  through  who  had  been  chained  to  his 
coarse  and  brutal  nature  ;  and  yet  not  a  harsh  word  fell  from 
her,  not  a  syllable  of  reproach  or  blame.  No ;  she  had  all 
manner  of  excuses  to  make  for  him,  in  the  evil  influences 
by  which  he  was  surrounded,  the  false  and  bad  men  who 
assumed  to  be  his  friends. 

It  was  quite  touching  to  hear  her  allude  to  the  happiness 
of  their  early  married  life,  —  their  contentment  with  humble 
fortune,  their  willing  estrangement  from  a  world  of  luxury 
and  display,  to  lead  an  existence  of  cultivated  pursuits  and 


THE   COTTAGE  NEAR  BKEGE^Z.  537 

mutual  aflfectiou.  "Winlhrop  was  moved  as  be  listened,  and 
Trover  had  to  wipe  his  eyes. 

Of  the  dreadful  eveut  of  her  life  she  skilfully  avoided 
details,  dwelling  only  on  such  parts  of  it  as  might  illustrate 
her  own  good  qualities,  her  devotion  to  the  memory  of  one 
of  whom  she  had  much  to  pardon,  and  her  unceasing  affec- 
tion for  his  child.  If  the  episode  of  that  girl's  illness  and 
death  was  only  invented  at  the  moment  of  telling,  it  lost 
nothing  by  the  want  of  premeditation  ;  and  Winthrop's  tears 
betrayed  how  he  took  to  heart  the  desolate  condition  of  that 
poor  bereaved  woman. 

"  I  had  resolved,"  said  she,  "  never  to  avail  myself  of  this 
fortune.  To  what  end  could  I  desire  wealth  ?  I  was  dead 
to  the  world.  If  enough  remained  to  support  me  through 
my  lonely  pilgrimage,  I  needed  no  more.  The  simple  life  of 
these  peasants  here  offered  me  all  that  I  could  now  care  for, 
and  it  was  in  this  obscure  spot  I  meant  to  have  ended  my 
days,  unnoticed  and  unwept.  My  dear  father,  however,  a 
distinguished  officer,  whose  services  the  Government  is  proud 
to  acknowledge,  had  rashly  involved  himself  in  some  specu- 
lations ;  everything  went  badly  with  him,  and  he  finished  by 
losing  all  that  he  had  laid  by  to  support  his  old  age.  In  this 
emergency  I  bethought  me  of  that  will ;  but  even  yet  I  don't 
believe  I  should  have  availed  myself  of  its  provisions  if  it 
were  not  that  my  father  urged  me  by  another  and  irresistible 
argument,  which  was  that  in  not  asserting  my  own  claim,  I 
was  virtually  denying  yours.  '  Think  of  Winthrop.'  said  he. 
'Why  should  he  be  defrauded  of  his  inheritance  because  you 
have  taken  a  vow  of  poverty  ? '  He  called  it  a  vow  of  pov- 
ety,"  said  she,  smiling  through  her  tears,  "  since  I  wore  no 
better  dress  than  this,  nor  tasted  any  food  more  delicate 
than  the  rough  fare  of  my  peasant  neighbors." 

If  the  costume  to  which  she  thus  directed  their  attention 
was  simple,  it  was  eminently  becoming,  being,  in  reality, 
a  sort  of  theatrical  travesty  of  a  peasant's  dress,  made  to 
fit  perfectly,  and  admitting  of  a  very  generous  view  of 
her  matchless  foot  and  ankle;  insomuch,  indeed,  that  Mr. 
Winthrop  could  not  help  feeling  that  if  poverty  had  its 
privations,  it  could  yet  be  eminently  picturesque. 

If  Winthrop  wished  from  time  to  time  to  ask  some  ques- 


538  ONE   OF  THEM. 

tiou  about  this,  or  inquire  into  that,  her  answers  invariably 
led  him  far  afield,  and  made  him  even  forget  the  matter  he 
had  been  eager  about.  A  burst  of  emotion,  some  suddenly 
recalled  event,  some  long-forgotten  passage  brought  back 
to  mind  in  a  moment,  would  extricate  her  from  any  diffi- 
culty ;  and  as  to  dates,  —  those  awful  sunk  rocks  of  all 
unprepared  fiction,  —  how  could  she  be  asked  for  these,  — 
she,  who  really  could  not  tell  the  very  year  they  were  then 
living  in,  had  long  ceased  to  count  time  or  care  for  its  on- 
ward course?  There  were  things  he  did  not  understand; 
there  were  things,  too,  that  he  could  not  reconcile  with  each 
other;  but  he  could  not,  at  such  a  moment,  suggest  his 
doubts  or  his  difficulties,  nor  be  so  heartless  as  to  weary 
that  poor  crushed  and  wounded  spirit  by  prolonging  a  scene 
so  painful. 

When  he  arose  to  take  his  leave,  they  were  like  old  friends. 
With  a  delicate  tact  all  her  own,  she  distinguished  him 
especially  from  Mr.  Trover ;  and  while  she  gave  Winthrop 
both  her  hands  in  his,  she  bestowed  upon  his  companion  a 
very  cold  smile  and  a  courtesy. 

"Are  they  gone, — positively  gone?"  asked  she  of  her 
father,  who  now  entered  the  room,  after  having  carefully 
watched  the  whole  interview  from  a  summer-house  with  a 
spy-glass. 

"Yes,  dear;  they  are  out  on  the  road.  I  just  overheard 
the  American,  as  he  closed  the  wicket,  remark,  '  She  's  the 
most  fascinating  creature  I  ever  talked  to ! '  " 

"I  hope  I  am,  papa.  When  one  has  to  be  a  serpent,  one 
ought  surely  to  have  a  snake's  advantages!  What  a  dear 
old  creature  that  American  is !  I  really  have  taken  a  great 
liking  to  him.  There  is  a  marvellous  attraction  in  the  man 
that  one  can  deceive  without  an  effort,  and,  like  the  sheep 
who  come  begging  to  be  eaten,  only  implores  to  be  '  taken 
in  again.'  " 

"I  never  took  my  eyes  off  him,  and  I  saw  that  you  made 
him  cry  twice." 

"Three  times,  papa,  — three  times;  not  to  speak  of  many 
false  attacks  of  sensibility  that  went  off  in  deep  sighs  and 
chokings.  Oh  dear!  am  I  not  wearied?  Fetch  me  a  little 
lemonade,  and  put  one  spoonful  —  only  one  —  of  maraschino 


THE   COTTAGE   NEAR  BREGENZ.  539 

in  it.  That  wretch  Trover  almost  made  me  laugh  with  his 
absurd  display  of  grief.    I  '11  not  have  him  here  to-morrow." 

"And  is  Winthrop  to  come  to-morrow?  " 

"Yes;  and  this  evening  too.  He  comes  to-night  to  tea; 
he  is  so  anxious  to  know  you,  papa ;  he  has  such  a  pleasant 
theory  about  that  dear  old  man  covered  with  wounds  and 
honors,  and  devoting  his  declining  years  to  console  his  poor 
afflicted  child.  You  have  put  too  much  maraschino  in 
this." 

"One  spoonful,  on  honor;  but  I  mean  to  treat  myself 
more  generously.  Well,  I  'm  heartily  glad  that  the  interview 
is  over.  It  was  an  anxious  thing  to  have  before  one,  and 
particularly  not  knowing  what  manner  of  man  he  might  be." 

"That  was  the  real  difficulty.  It 's  very  hard  to  '  play 
up  '  to  an  unknown  audience !  " 

"I  'd  not  have  asked  them  back  this  evening.  Loo.  It 
will  be  too  much  for  you." 

"I  did  not  do  so.  It  was  Winthrop  himself  begged  per- 
mission to  come;  but  he  promised  that  not  a  syllable  of 
business  was  to  transpire,  so  that  I  have  only  to  be  very 
charming,  which,  of  course,  costs  nothing." 

''I  gather  that  all  went  smoothly  on  this  morning.  No 
difficulty  anywhere  ?  " 

''None  whatever.  The  account  Trover  gave  us  is  fully 
borne  out.  The  property  is  immense.  There  are,  however, 
innumerable  legal  details  to  be  gone  through.  I  can't  say 
what  documents  and  papers  we  shall  not  have  to  produce; 
meanwhile  our  American  friend  most  generously  lays  his 
purse  at  our  disposal,  and  this  blank  check  is  to  be  filled  at 
my  discretion." 

"  '  Barnet  and  King,'"  read  he;  "an  excellent  house. 
'  Please  to  pay  to  Mrs.  Hawke,  or  order.'  Very  handsome 
of  him,  this.  Loo;  very  thoughtful." 

"Very  thoughtful;  but  I'd  as  soon  Trover  had  not  been 
present;  he  's  a  greedy,  grabbing  sort  of  creature,  and  will 
insist  upon  a  large  discount  out  of  it." 

"Make  the  draft  the  bigger,  darling;  the  remedy  is  in 
your  own  hands." 

"Strange  there  should  be  no  letter  from  O'Shea.  I  was 
full  certain  we  should  have  heard  something  before  this." 


640  ONE  OF  THEM. 

'^Perhaps  we  may  by  this  post,  dear.  It  ought  to  have 
arrived  by  this  time." 

"Then  go  and  see,  by  all  means.  How  I  hate  a  post  that 
comes  of  an  evening!  One  ought  to  begin  the  day  with 
one's  letters;  they  are  the  evil  fates,  whose  machinations 
all  our  efforts  are  directed  against.  They  are,  besides,  the 
whispering  of  the  storm  that  is  brewing  afar  off,  but  is  sure 
to  overtake  us.  One  ought  to  meet  them  with  a  well-rested 
brain  and  refreshed  spirit,  not  wearied  and  jaded  and  un- 
strung by  the  day's  toil." 

And  the  Captain  prepared  to  obey,  but  not  without  a 
variety  of  precautions  against  catching  cold,  which  seemed 
somewhat  to  try  his  daughter's  patience. 

"You  really,"  said  she,  with  a  half-bitter  smile,  "take 
very  little  account  of  the  anxiety  1  must  feel  about  my 
future  husband." 

"  Nonsense,  dear;  the  O'Shea  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  It 
would  really  be  a  gross  misuse  of  wealth  to  share  it  with 
such  a  man." 

"So  it  might,  if  one  were  free  to  choose.  But  it 's  the  old 
story,  papa,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh.  "To  be  cured  of  the 
ague,  one  is  willing  to  take  arsenic.  There,  you  are  surely 
muffled  enough  now;  lose  no  more  time,  and,  above  all 
things,  don't  get  into  a  gossiping  mood,  and  stay  to  talk 
with  Trover,  or  be  seduced  by  Mr.  Winthrop's  juleps,' but 
come  back  at  once,  for  I  have  a  sort  of  feverish  foreboding 
over  me  that  I  cannot  control." 

"How  silly  that  is,  dear!  —  to  have  a  stout  heart  on  the 
high  seas  and  grow  cowardly  in  the  harbor." 

"But  are  we  in  the  harbor?  Are  we  so  ver)/  certain  that 
the  voyage  is  over?  "  said  she,  with  increased  eagerness. 
"But  pray  go  for  the  letters,  or  I  will  myself." 

He  set  out  at  last,  and  she  watched  him  as  he  shut  the 
wicket  and  crossed  out  upon  the  high-road ;  and  then,  all 
alone  as  she  sat,  she  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears. 
Was  this  the  relief  of  a  nature  strained  like  an  over-bent 
bow?  Was  it  the  sorrowful  outburst  of  a  spirit  which, 
however  bold  and  defiant  to  the  world,  was  craven  to  itself; 
or  was  it  simply  that  fear  had  mastered  her,  and  that  she  felt 
the  approach  of  the  storm  that  was  to  shipwreck  her? 


THE  COTTAGE  XEAR  BREGENZ.        541 

She  must  have  been  parti}'  stunned  by  hex-  sorrow,  for  she 
sat,  no  longer  impatient,  nor  watching  eagerly  for  his 
return,  but  in  a  sort  of  half-lethargic  state,  gazing  out  un- 
consciously into  the  falling  night  that  now  closed  in  fast 
around  her. 

It  is  neither  a  weak  nor  an  ignorant  theory  that  ascribes, 
even  to  the  most  corrupt  natures,  moments  of  deepest  re- 
morse, sincere  and  true,  aspirations  after  better  things,  and 
a  willingness  to  submit  to  the  severest  penalties  of  the  past, 
if  only  there  be  a  ''future"  in  store  for  them.  Who  can 
tell  us  what  of  these  were  now  passing  through  the  mind  of 
her  who  sat  at  that  window,  brooding  sorrowfully? 

"Here  's  a  letter  for  you,  Loo,  and  a  weighty  one  too," 
said  Holmes,  entering  the  room,  and  approaching  her  before 
she  was  aware.  "It  was  charged  half  a  dollar  extra,  for 
overweight.     I  trust  you  '11  say  it  was  worth  the  money." 

"Fetch  a  light!  get  me  a  candle!  "  cried  she,  eagerly ;  and 
she  broke  the  seal  with  hands  all  trembling  and  twitching. 
"And  leave  me,  papa;  leave  me  a  moment  to  myself." 

He  placed  the  candles  at  her  side,  and  stole  away.  She 
turned  one  glance  at  the  address,  "To  Mrs.  Hawke,"  and 
she  read  in  that  one  word  that  the  writer  knew  her  story. 
But  the  contents  soon  banished  other  thoughts;  they  were 
her  own  long-coveted,  long-sought  letters;  there  they  were 
now  before  her,  time-worn  and  crumpled,  records  of  a  terri- 
ble season  of  sorrow  and  misery  and  guilt!  She  counted 
them  over  and  over ;  there  were  twentj'-seven ;  not  one  was 
missing.  She  did  not  dare  to  open  them;  and  even  in  her 
happiness  to  regain  them  was  the  darkening  shadow  of  the 
melancholy  period  when  they  were  written,  — the  long  days 
of  suffering  and  the  nights  of  tears.  So  engrossed  was  she 
by  the  thought  that  they  were  now  her  own  again,  that  the 
long  tyranny  of  years  had  ended  and  the  ever-impending 
shame  departed,  that  she  could  not  turn  to  learn  how  she 
came  by  them,  nor  through  whom.  At  length  this  seemed 
to  flash  suddenly  on  her  mind,  and  she  examined  the 
envelope,  and  found  a  small  sealed  note,  addressed,  as  was 
the  packet,  "Mrs.  Hawke."  O'Shea's  initials  were  in  the 
corner.     It  contained  but  one  line,  which  ran  thus:  — 

"I  have  read  the  enclosed.  — G.  O'S." 


642  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Then  was  it  that  the  bitterness  of  her  lot  smote  her  with 
all  its  force,  and  she  dropped  down  upon  her  knees,  and, 
laying  her  head  on  the  chair,  sobbed  as  if  each  convulsive 
beat  would  have  rent  her  very  heart. 

Oh,  the  ineffable  misery  of  an  exposed  shame!  the  terrible 
sense  that  we  are  to  meet  abroad  and  before  the  world  the 
stern  condemnation  our  conscience  has  already  pronounced, 
and  that  henceforth  we  are  to  be  shunned  and  avoided! 
There  is  not  left  to  us  any  longer  one  mood  of  mind  that  can 
bring  repose.  If  we  are  depressed,  it  is  in  the  mourning  of 
our  guilt  we  seem  to  be  dressed ;  if  for  a  moment  we  assume 
the  air  of  light-heartedness,  it  is  to  shock  the  world  by  the 
want  of  feeling  for  our  shame!  It  is  written  that  we  are  to 
be  outcasts  and  live  apart! 

"May  I  come  in,  Loo?"  said  a  low  voice  from  the  half- 
opened  doorway.  It  was  her  father,  asking  for  the  third 
time  before  she  heard  him. 

She  uttered  a  faint  "Yes,"  and  tried  to  rise;  but  her 
strength  failing,  she  laid  her  head  down  again  between  her 
hands. 

"What  is  this,  darling?"  he  said,  stooping  down  over 
her.  "What  bad  tidings  have  you  got  there?  Tell  me, 
Loo,  for  I  may  be  able  to  lighten  your  sorrow  for  you." 

"No,"  said  she,  calmly,  "that  you  cannot,  for  you  cannot 
make  me  unlive  the  past!     Read  that." 

"Well,  I  see  nothing  very  formidable  in  this,  dear.  I 
can't  suppose  that  it  is  the  loss  of  such  a  lover  afflicts  you. 
He  has  read  them.  Be  it  so.  They  are  now  in  your  own 
hands,  and  neither  he  nor  any  other  will  ever  read  them 
again.  It  would  have  been  more  interesting  had  he  told  us 
how  he  came  by  them;  that  was  something  really  worth 
knowing ;  for  remember.  Loo,  —  and  it  is,  after  all,  the  great 
point,  —  these  are  documents  you  were  ready  and  willing 
to  have  bought  up  at  a  thousand  pounds,  or  even  more. 
Paten  often  swore  he  'd  have  three  thousand  for  them,  and 
there  they  are  now,  safe  in  your  own  keeping,  and  not  cost- 
ing you  one  shilling.  Stay,"  said  he,  laughing,  "the  post- 
age was  about  one-and-sixpence." 

"And  is  it  nothing  to  cost  me  open  shame  and  ignominy? 
Is  it  nothing  that,  instead  of  one  man,  two  now  have  read 


THE  COTTAGE  NEAK  BKEGENZ. 


543 


the  dark  tracings  of  my  degraded  heart?     Oh,  father,  even 
you  might  feel  for  the  misery  of  exposure!  " 

"But  it  is  not  exposure:  it  is  the  very  opposite;  it  is,  of 
all  things,  the  most  secret  and  secure.  "When  these  letters 
are  burned,  what  accusation  remains  against  you?  The 
memory  of  two  loose  men  about  town.  But  who  '11  believe 
them,  or  who  cares  if  they  be  believed  ?  Bethink  you  that 
every  one  in  this  world  is  maligned  by  somebody,  and  finds 


somebody  else  to  credit  the  scandal.  Give  me  a  bishop  to 
blacken  to-morrow,  and  see  if  I  won't  have  a  public  to  adopt 
the  libel.  No,  no.  Loo;  it's  a  small  affliction,  believe  me, 
that  one  is  able  to  dispose  of  with  a  lucifer-match.  Here, 
girl,  give  them  to  me,  and  never  waste  another  thought  on 
them." 

"No,"  said  she,  resolutely,  "I'll  not  burn  them.  What- 
ever I  may  ask  of  the  world  to  think  of  me,  I  do  not  mean 
to  play  the  hypocrite  to  myself.  Lend  me  your  hand,  and 
fetch  me  a  glass  of  water.  I  cannot  meet  these  people  to- 
night.    You  must  go  over  to  the  inn,  and  say  that  I  am  ill, 


644  ONE   OF  THEM. 

—  call  it  a  headache,  —  and  add  that  I  hope  by  to-morrow  I 
shall  be  quite  well  again." 

"Nay,  nay,  let  them  come,  dear,  and  the  very  exertion  will 
cheer  you.  You  promised  that  American  to  sing  him  one 
of  his  nigger  melodies,  — don't  forget  that." 

"Go  and  tell  them  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  take  to  bed, 
father,"  said  she,  in  a  hollow  voice.  "It  is  no  falsehood  to 
call  me  very  ill." 

"My  dear  Loo,"  said  he,  caressingly,  "all  this  is  so 
unlike  yourself.  You,  that  never  lacked  courage  in  your 
life!   i/ot(,  that  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  faint-hearted!  " 

"Well,  you  see  me  a  coward  at  last,"  said  she,  in  a  faint 
voice.  "Go  and  do  as  I  bade  you,  father;  for  this  is  no 
whim,  believe  me." 

The  old  man  muttered  out  some  indistinct  grumblings, 
and  left  the  room  on  his  errand. 

She  had  not  been  many  minutes  alone  when  she  heard  the 
sharp  sounds  of  feet  on  the  gravel,  and  could  mark  the 
voices  of  persons  speaking  together  with  rapidity.  One 
she  quickly  recognized  as  her  father's,  the  other  she  soon 
knew  to  be  Trover's.  The  last  words  he  uttered  as  he 
reached  the  door  were,  "Arrested  at  once!  " 

"Who  is  to  be  arrested  at  once?"  cried  she,  rushing 
wildly  to  the  door. 

"We,  if  we  are  caught!"  said  Holmes.  "There's  no 
time  for  explanation  now.  Get  your  traps  together,  and 
let  us  be  off  in  quick  time." 

"It  is  good  counsel  he  gives  you,"  said  Trover.  "The 
game  is  up,  and  nothing  but  flight  can  save  us.  The 
great  question  is,  which  way  to  go." 

She  pressed  her  hands  to  her  temples  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  as  if  recalled,  by  the  peril,  to  her  old  activity  of 
thought  and  action,  said,  — 

"Let  Johann  fetch  his  cousin  quickly;  they  both  row  well, 
and  the  boat  is  ready  at  the  foot  of  the  garden.  We  can 
reach  Rorschach  in  a  couple  of  hours,  and  make  our  way  over 
to  St.  Gall." 

"And  then?"  asked  Trover,  peevishly. 

"We  are,  at  least,  in  a  mountain  region,  where  there  are 
neither  railroads  nor  telegraphs." 


THE   COTTAGE   NEAR  BREGENZ.  545 

"She  is  right.  Her  plan  is  a  good  one,  Trover,"  broke 
in  Holmes.  "'Go  fetch  what  things  you  mean  to  take  with 
you,  and  come  back  at  once.  We  shall  be  ready  by  that 
time." 

"If  there  be  danger,  why  go  back  at  all?"  said  she. 
"  Remember,  I  know  nothing  of  the  perils  that  you  speak  of, 
nor  do  I  ask  to  know  till  we  are  on  the  road  out  of  them. 
But  stay  here,  and  help  us  to  get  our  pack  made." 

"Now  you  are  yourself  again!  now  I  know  you.  Loo," 
said  Holmes,  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  after  they  were  skimming  across 
the  Lake  of  Constance  as  fast  as  a  light  skiff  and  strong 
arms  could  bear  them.  The  night  was  still  and  calm,  though 
dark,  and  the  water  without  a  ripple. 

For  some  time  after  they  left  the  shore  scarcely  a 
word  was  spoken  amongst  them.  At  last  Holmes  whis- 
pered something  in  his  daughter's  ear,  and  she  rejoined 
aloud,  — 

"Yes,  it  is  time  to  tell  me  now;  for,  though  I  have  sub- 
mitted myself  to  your  judgment  in  this  hasty  flight,  I  am 
not  quite  sure  the  peril  was  as  imminent  as  you  believed  it. 
"What  did  you  mean  by  talking  of  an  arrest?  Who  could 
arrest  us?     And  for  what? " 

"You  shall  hear,"  said  Trover;  "and  perhaps,  when  you 
have  heard,  you  '11  agree  that  I  was  not  exaggerating  our 
danger." 

Not  wishing  to  impose  on  our  reader  the  minute  details 
into  which  he  entered,  and  the  narrative  of  which  lasted 
almost  till  they  reached  the  middle  of  the  lake,  we  shall  give 
in  a  few  words  the  substance  of  his  story.  While  dressing 
for  dinner  at  the  inn,  he  saw  a  carriage  with  four  posters 
arrive,  and,  in  a  very  few  minutes  after,  heard  a  loud  voice 
inquiring  for  Mr.  Harvey  Winthrop.  Suddenly  struck  by 
the  strangeness  of  such  a  demand,  he  hastened  to  gain  a 
small  room  adjoining  Winthrop's,  and  from  which  a  door 
communicated,  by  standing  close  to  which  he  could  overhear 
all  that  passed. 

He  had  but  reached  the  room  and  locked  the  door,  when 
he  heard  the  sounds  of  a  hearty  welcome  and  recognition 
exchanged  within.     The  stranger  spoke  witli  an  American 


546  ONE   OF  THEM. 

accent,  and  very  soon  placed  the  question  of  his  nationality 
beyond  a  doubt. 

"You  would  not  believe,"  said  he,  "that  I  have  been  in 
pursuit  of  you  for  a  matter  of  more  than  three  thousand 
miles.  I  went  down  to  Norfolk  and  to  St.  Louis,  and  was 
iu  full  chase  into  the  Far  West,  when  I  found  I  was  on  the 
wrong  tack ;  so  I  '  wore  ship  '  and  came  over  to  Europe. " 
After  satisfying,  in  some  degree,  the  astonishment  this 
declaration  excited,  he  went  on  to  tell  how  he,  through  a 
chance  acquaintance  at  first,  and  afterwards  a  close  friend- 
ship with  the  Laytons,  came  to  the  knowledge  of  the  story 
of  the  Jersey  murder,  and  the  bequest  of  the  dying  man 
on  his  daughter's  behalf,  his  interest  being  all  the  more 
strongly  engaged  because  every  one  of  the  localities  was 
familiar  to  him,  and  his  own  brother  a  tenant  on  the  very 
land.  All  the  arts  he  had  deployed  to  trace  out  the  girl's 
claim,  and  all  the  efforts,  with  the  aid  of  the  Laytons,  he 
had  made  to  find  out  Winthrop  himself,  he  patiently 
recounted,  mentioning  his  accidental  companionship  with 
Trover,  and  the  furtive  mode  in  which  that  man  had 
escaped  him.  It  was,  however,  by  that  very  flight  Trover 
confirmed  the  suspicion  he  had  attached  to  him,  and  so  the 
stranger  continued  to  show  that  from  the  hour  of  his  escape 
they  had  never  "lost  the  track."  How  they  had  crossed  the 
Atlantic  he  next  recorded,  — all  their  days  spent  in  discuss- 
ing the  one  theme ;  no  other  incident  or  event  ever  occupy- 
ing a  moment's  attention.  "We  were  certain  of  two  things," 
said  he:  "there  was  a  deep  snare,  and  that  girl  was  its 
victim."  He  confessed  that  if  to  himself  the  inquiry 
possessed  a  deep  interest,  with  old  Layton  it  had  become  a 
passion. 

"At  last,"  continued  Trover,  "he  began  to  confess  that 
their  hopes  fell,  and  each  day's  discomfiture  served  to  chill 
the  ardor  that  had  sustained  them,  when  a  strange  and  most 
unlooked-for  light  broke  in  upon  them  by  the  discovery  of  a 
few  lines  of  a  note  written  by  you  to  Dr.  Layton  himself 
years  before,  and,  being  produced,  was  at  once  recognized 
as  the  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris." 

"Written  by  me!  How  could  I  have  written  to  him?  I 
never  heard  of  him,"  broke  she  in. 


THE  COTTAGE  NEAR  BREGENZ.        547 

"Yes,  he  was  the  doctor  who  attended  Hawke  in  his  last 
illness,  and  it  ajDpeared  you  wrote  to  beg  he  would  cit  off  a 
lock  of  hair  for  you,  and  bring  it  to  you." 

''I  remember  that,"  said  she,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "though 
I  never  remembered  his  name  was  Laytou.  And  he  has  this 
note  still?" 

"You  shall  hear.     No  sooner  had  his  son  —  " 

"You  cannot  mean  Alfred  Layton?" 

"Yes;  the  same.  No  sooner  had  he  declared  that  he 
knew  the  hand,  than  they  immediately  traced  you  in  Mrs, 
Penthouy  Morris,  and  knowing  that  Stocmar  had  become 
the  girl's  guardian,  they  lost  no  time  in  finding  him  out. 
I  was  too  much  flurried  and  terrified  at  this  moment  to  col- 
lect clearly  what  followed,  but  I  gathered  that  the  elder 
Layton  held  over  him  some  threat  which,  if  pushed  to  execu- 
tion, might  ruin  him.  By  means  of  this  menace,  they  made 
Stocmar  confess  everything.  He  told  who  Clara  was,  how 
he  had  gained  possession  of  her,  under  what  name  she  went, 
and  where  she  was  then  living.  Through  some  influence 
which  I  cannot  trace,  they  interested  a  secretary  of  state  in 
their  case,  and  started  for  the  Continent  with  strong  letters 
from  the  English  authorities,  and  a  detective  officer  spe- 
cially engaged  to  communicate  with  the  foreign  officials, 
and  permit,  when  the  proofs  might  justify,  of  an  arrest." 

"How  much  do  they  know,  then?"  asked  she,  calmly. 

"  They  know  everything.  They  know  of  the  forged  will, 
the  false  certificate  of  death,  and  "Winthrop  has  confirmed 
the  knowledge.  Fortunately,  I  have  secured  the  more  im- 
portant document.  I  hastened  to  his  room  while  they  were 
3^et  talking,  opened  his  desk,  and  carried  away  the  will. 
As  to  the  certificate,  the  Laytons  and  the  detective  had  set 
off  for  Meisner  the  moment  after  reaching  Bregenz,  to 
establish  its  forged  character." 

"Who  cares  for  that?"  said  she,  carelessly.  "It  is  a 
trifling  offence.     Where  is  the  other,  —  the  will?  " 

"I  have  it  here,"  said  he,  pointing  to  his  breast-pocket. 

"Let  us  make  a  bonfire,  then,"  said  she,  "for  I,  too,  have 
some  inconvenient  records  to  get  rid  of.  I  thought  of 
keeping  them  as  memories,  but  I  suspect  I  shall  need  no 
reminders." 


548  ONE  OF  THEM. 

While  Trover  tore  the  forged  will  in  pieces,  she  did  the 
like  by  the  letters,  and,  a  match  being  applied  to  the  fiao-- 
ments,  the  flames  rose  up,  and  in  a  few  seconds  the  black- 
ened remnants  were  carried  away  by  the  winds,  and  lost. 

''So,  then,  Mr.  Trover,"  said  she,  at  length,  "Norfolk 
Island  has  been  defrauded  of  your  society  for  this  time. 
By  the  way,  papa,  is  not  this  Dr.  Layton  your  friend  as 
well  as  mine  ?  " 

"Yes,  Loo,  he  is  the  man  of  ozone  and  vTilcanized  zinc, 
and  I  don't  know  what  else.     I  hoped  he  had  died  ere  this." 

"No,  papa,  they  don't  die.  If  you  remark,  you  '11  see  that 
the  people  whose  mission  it  is  to  torment  are  wonderfully 
long-lived,  and  if  I  were  an  assurance  agent,  I  'd  take  far 
more  account  of  men's  tempers  than  their  gout  tendencies 
and  dropsies.  Was  there  any  allusion  to  papa,  Mr. 
Trover?" 

"Yes;  old  Layton  seems  to  have  a  warrant,  or  something 
of  the  kind,  against  him,  on  a  grave  charge,  but  I  had  no 
mind  to  hear  what." 

"So  that,  I  suppose,"  said  she,  laughing,  "I  am  the  only 
'  innocent '  in  the  company ;  for  you  know,  Mr.  Trover, 
that  I  forged  nothing,  falsified  nothing;  I  was  betrayed, 
by  my  natural  simplicity  of  character,  into  believing  that 
a  fortune  was  left  me.  I  never  dreamed  that  Mr.  Trover 
was  a  villain." 

"I  don't  know  how  you  take  it  so  easily.  We  have  es- 
caped transportation,  it  is  true,  but  we  have  not  escaped 
public  shame  and  exposure,"  said  Trover,  peevishly. 

"She  's  right,  though,  Trover,  — she  's  right.  One  never 
gets  in  the  true  frame  of  mind  to  meet  difficulties  till  one 
is  able  to  laugh  a  little  at  them." 

"Not  to  mention,"  added  she,  "that  there  is  a  ludicrous 
side  in  all  troubles.  I  wonder  how  poor  dear  Mr.  Win- 
throp  bears  his  disappointment,  worse  than  mine,  in  so  far 
that  he  has  travelled  three  thousand  miles  to  attain  it." 

"Oh,  he  professes  to  be  charmed.  I  heard  him  say, 
'  Well,  Quackinboss,  I  'm  better  pleased  to  know  that  the 
poor  girl  is  alive  than  to  have  a  million  of  dollars  left 
me.' " 

"You  don't  say  the  stranger  was  Quackinboss,  the  dear 


THE   COTTAGE   NEAR   BREGENZ.  549 

Yankee  we  were  all  so  fond  of  long  ago  at  Marlia,  and 
whom  I  never  could  make  in  love  with  me,  though  I  did  my 
very  best?  Oh,  father,  is  it  not  provoking  to  think  of  all 
the  old  friends  we  are  running  away  from?  Colonel  Quack- 
inboss,  Dr.  Layton,  and  Alfred!  every  one  of  them  so 
linked  to  us  by  one  tender  thought  or  another.  What  a 
charming  little  dinner  we  might  have  had  to-morrow;  the 
old  doctor  would  have  taken  me  in,  whispering  a  little  dole- 
ful word,  as  we  went,  about  the  Hawke's  Nest,  and  long 
ago;  and  you  and  he  would  have  had  your  scientific  talk 
afterwards !  " 

How  old  Holmes  laughed  at  the  pleasant  conceit!  It 
was  really  refreshing  to  see  that  good  old  man  so  cheery 
and  light  of  heart;  the  very  boat  shook  with  his  jollity. 

"Listen!  — do  listen!  "  said  Trover,  in  an  accent  of  ter- 
ror. "I'm  certain  I  heard  the  sound  of  oars  following 
us." 

"  Stop  rowing  for  a  moment,"  said  she  to  the  boatmen; 
and  as  the  swift  skiff  glided  noiselessly  along,  she  bent 
down  her  head  to  listen.  "  Yes,"  said  she,  in  a  low,  quiet 
voice,  "  Trover  is  right ;  there  is  a  boat  in  pursuit,  and 
they,  too,  have  ceased  pulling  now,  to  trace  us.  Ha! 
there  they  go  again,  and  for  Lindau  too ;  they  have  heard, 
perhaps,  the  stroke  of  oars  in  that  direction." 

"  Let  our  fellows  pull  manfully,  then,  and  we  are  safe," 
cried  Trover,  eagerly. 

"  No,  no,"  said  she,  in  the  same  calm,  collected  tone. 
"The  moon  has  set,  and  there  will  be  perfect  darkness  till 
the  day  breaks,  full  two  hours  off.  We  must  be  still,  so  long 
as  they  are  within  hearing  of  us.  I  know  well.  Trover,  what 
a  tax  this  imposes  on  your  courage,  but  it  can't  be  helped." 

"Just  so.  Trover,"  chimed  in  Holmes.  "  She  commands 
here,  and  there  must  be  no  mutiny." 

The  wretched  man  groaned  heavily,  but  uttered  no  word 
of  reply. 

"I  wish  that  great  chemical  friend  of  yours,  papa,  —  the 
wonderful  Dr.  Layton,  —  had  turned  his  marvellous  mind 
to  the  invention  of  invisible  fire.  I  am  dying  for  a  cigar 
now,  and  I  am  afraid  to  light  one." 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  for  mercy's  sake !  "  broke  in  Trover. 


550  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  Pray  calm  yourself,  I  have  not  the  slightest  fancy  for 
being  overtaken  by  this  interesting  party,  nor  do  I  think 
papa  has  either,  —  not  that  our  meeting  could  have  any 
consequence  beyond  mere  unpleasantness.  If  they  should 
come  up  with  us,  I  am  as  ready  to  denounce  the  deceit- 
ful Mr.  Trover  as  any  of  them." 

"  This  is  very  poor  jesting,  I  must  say,"  muttered  he, 
angrily. 

''You'll  find  it,  perhaps,  a  very  serious  earnest  if  we 're 
caught." 

"  Come,  come.  Loo,  forgive  him;  he  certainly  meant  all 
for  the  best.  I  'm  sure  you  did.  Trover,"  said  old  Holmes, 
with  the  blandest  of  voices. 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  do  you  mean?  "  cried  he.  "  You  are 
just  as  deep  in  the  plot  as  I  am.  But  for  you,  how  should  I 
have  known  about  Hawke's  having  any  property  in  America, 
or  that  he  had  any  heir  to  it?" 

"  I  am  not  naturally  suspicious.  Trover,"  said  she,  with 
mock  gravity,  "  but  I  declare  I  begin  to  believe  you  are  a 
bad  man,  —  a  very  bad  man  !  " 

"I  hope  and  trust  not.  Loo,"  said  old  Holmes,  fervently; 
"  I  really  hope  not." 

"It  is  no  common  baseness  that  seeks  for  its  victim  the 
widow  and  the  fatherless.  Please  to  put  that  rug  under  my 
feet.  Trover.  There  are  barristers  would  give  their  eye-tooth 
for  such  an  opening  for  invective.  I  have  one  fat  friend  in 
my  eye  would  take  the  brief  for  mere  pleasure  of  blackguard- 
ing you.     You  know  whom  I  mean,  papa." 

"You  may  push  a  joke  too  far,  Mrs.  Morris, — or 
Mrs.  Hawke,  rather,"  said  Trover,  rudely,  "  for  I  don't 
know  by  which  name  you  will  be  pleased  to  be  known  in 
future." 

"  I  am  thinking  very  seriously  of  taking  a  new  one.  Trover, 
and  the  gentleman  who  is  to  share  it  with  me  will  probably 
answer  all  your  inquiries  on  that  and  every  other  subject.  I 
trust,  too,  that  he  will  meet  us  to-morrow." 

"Well,  if  I  were  Trover,  I'd  not  pester  him  with  ques- 
tions," said  Holmes,  laughingly. 

"Don't  you  think  they  might  take  to  their  oars  again, 
now?"  asked  Trover,  in  a  very  beseeching  tone. 


THE   COTTAGE   NEAR  BREGEXZ.  551 

"Poor  Mr.  Trover!  "  said  she,  with  a  little  laugh.  "It 
is  really  very  hard  on  him  !  I  have  a  notion  that  this  night's 
pleasuring  on  the  Lake  of  Constance  will  be  one  of  the  least 
grateful  of  his  recollections."  Then  turning  to  the  boatmen, 
she  bade  them  "  give  way  "  with  a  will,  and  pull  their  best  for 
Rorschach. 

From  this  time  out  nothing  was  said  aloud,  but  Holmes 
and  his  daughter  spoke  eagerly  together  in  whispers,  while 
Trover  sat  apart,  his  head  turned  towards  where  the  shadow 
of  large  mountains  indicated  the  shore  of  the  lake. 

"  A'n't  you  happy  now,  Mr.  Trover?  "  said  she,  at  length, 
as  the  boat  glided  into  a  little  cove,  where  a  number  of  fish- 
ing-craft lay  at  anchor.     "  A'n't  you  happy?  " 

Either  smarting  under  what  he  felt  the  sarcasm  of  her 
question,  or  too  deeply  immersed  in  his  own  thoughts,  he 
made  no  reply  whatever,  but  as  the  boat  grated  on  the 
shingly  beach  he  sprang  out  and  gained  the  land.  In  an- 
other minute  the  boatmen  had  drawn  the  skiff  high  and 
dry,  on  the  sand,  and  assisted  the  others  to  disembark. 

"How  forgetful  you  are  of  all  gallant  attentions!"  said 
she,  as  Trover  stood  looking  on,  and  never  offering  any 
assistance  whatever.  "Have  you  got  any  silver  in  your 
purse,  papa?  " 

"I  can't  see  what  these  pieces  are,"  said  Holmes,  trying 
to  peer  through  the  darkness. 

"Pay  these  people,  Trover,"  said  she,  "and  be  liberal 
with  them.  Remember  from  what  fate  they  have  saved 
you."  And  as  she  spoke  she  handed  him  her  purse.  "We'll 
saunter  slowly  up  to  the  village,  and  you  can  follow  us." 

Trover  called  the  men  around  him,  and  proceeded  to  settle 
their  fare,  while  Holmes  and  his  daughter  proceeded  at  an 
easy  pace  inland. 

"How  much  was  there  in  your  purse,  Loo?"  asked 
Holmes. 

"Something  under  twenty  Napoleons,  papa;  but  it  will 
be  quite  enough." 

"  Enough  for  what,  dear?" 

"  Enough  to  tempt  poor  Mr.  Trover.  "We  shall  never  see 
more  of  him." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?" 


552  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"  I  am  certain  of  it.  He  was  thinking  of  nothing  else 
than  how  to  make  his  escape  all  the  time  we  were  crossing 
the  lake,  and  I,  too,  had  no  more  pressing  anxiety  than  how 
to  get  rid  of  him.  Had  I  offered  him  a  certain  sum,  we 
should  have  had  him  for  a  pensioner  as  long  as  he  lived, 
but  by  making  him  steal  the  money  I  force  him  to  be  his 
own  security  that  he  '11  never  come  back  again.  It  was  for 
this  that  I  persisted  in  acting  on  his  fears  in  the  boat ;  the 
more  wretched  we  made  him  the  cheaper  he  became,  and 
when  he  heaved  that  last  heavy  sigh,  I  took  ten  Napoleons 
off  his  price." 

Holmes  had  to  stop  walking,  and  hold  his  hands  to  his 
sides  with  laughter.  The  device  seemed  to  him  about  the 
best  practical  joke  he  had  ever  heard  of.  Then  ceasing 
suddenly,  he  said,  — 

"  But  what  if  he  were  to  go  back  to  the  others.  Loo,  and 
turn  approver  against  us?  " 

"  We  are  safe  enough  on  that  score.  He  has  nothing  to 
tell  them  that  they  do  not  know  already.  They  have  got 
to  the  bottom  of  all  the  mystery,  and  they  don't  want 
him." 

"  Still  it  seems  to  me,  Loo,  that  it  might  have  been  safer 
to  keep  him  along  with  us,  —  under  our  eye,  as  it  were." 

"  Not  at  all,  papa.  It  is  as  in  a  shipwreck,  where  the 
plank  that  will  save  two  will  sink  with  three.  The  stratagem 
that  will  rescue  ^is  would  be  probably  marred  by  him,  and, 
besides,  he  '11  provide  for  his  own  safety  better  than  we 
should." 

Thus  talking,  they  entered  the  little  village,  where,  although 
not  yet  daybreak,  a  small  cafe  was  open,  —  one  of  those 
humble  refreshment-houses  frequented  by  peasants  on  their 
way  to  their  daily  toil. 

"  Let  us  breakfast  here,"  said  she,  "while  they  are  getting 
ready  some  light  carriage  to  carry  us  on  to  St.  Gall.  I  have 
an  old  friend  there,  the  prior  of  the  monastery,  who  used  to 
be  very  desirous  to  convert  me  long  ago.  I  intend  to  give 
him  a  week  or  ten  days'  trial  now,  papa ;  and  he  may  also, 
if  he  feel  so  disposed,  experiment  upon  ijou." 

It  was  in  this  easy  chit-chat  they  sat  down  to  their  coffee 
in  the  little  inn  at  Rorschach.     They  were  soon,  however,  on 


THE  COTTAGE  NEAR  BREGENZ.         553 

the  road  again,  seated  in  a  little  country  carriage  drawn  by 
a  stout  mountain  pony. 

"Strange  enough  all  this  adventure  seems,"  said  she,  as 
they  ascended  the  steep  mountain  on  foot,  to  relieve  the 
weary  beast.  "  Sometimes  it  appears  all  like  a  dream  to 
me,  and  now,  when  I  look  over  the  lake  there,  and  see  the 
distant  spires  of  Bregenz  yonder,  I  begin  to  believe  that 
there  is  reality  in  it,  and  that  we  are  acting  in  a  true 
drama." 

Holmes  paid  but  little  attention  to  her  words,  wa^apped  up 
as  he  was  in  some  details  he  was  reading  in  a  newspaper  he 
had  carried  away  from  the  cafe. 

''What  have  you  found  to  interest  you  so  much  there, 
papa?"  asked  she,  at  last. 

Still  he  made  no  reply,  but  read  on. 

"  It  can  scarcely  be  that  you  are  grown  a  politician  again," 
continued  she,  laughingly,  "and  pretend  to  care  for  Austria 
or  for  Italy." 

"This  is  all  about  Paten,"  said  he,  eagerly.  "There's 
the  whole  account  of  it." 

"  Account  of  what? "  cried  she,  trying  to  snatch  the  paper 
from  him. 

"  Of  his  death." 

"  His  death  !  Is  he  dead  ?  Is  Paten  dead  ?  "  She  had  to 
clutch  his  arm  as  she  spoke  to  support  herself,  and  it  was 
only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  she  kept  her  feet. 
"  How  was  it?  Tell  me  how  he  came  by  his  death.  AVas  it 
O'Shea?" 

"  No,  he  was  killed.  The  man  who  did  it  has  given  him- 
self up,  alleging  that  it  was  in  an  altercation  between  them  ; 
a  pistol,  aimed  at  his  own  breast,  discharged  its  contents  in 
Paten's." 

She  tore  the  paper  from  his  hand,  and,  tottering  over  to  a 
bank  on  the  roadside,  bent  down  to  read  it.  Holmes  con- 
tinued to  talk  over  the  event  and  all  the  details,  but  she  did 
not  hear  what  he  said.  She  had  but  senses  for  the  lines  she 
was  perusing. 

"I  thought  at  first  it  was  O'Shea  in  some  disguise.  But 
it  cannot  be;  for  see,  they  remark  here  that  this  man  has 
been    observed    loitering   about    Baden    ever    since    Paten 


554  ONE  OF  THEM. 

arrived.  Oh,  here's  the  mystery,"  cried  she.  "His  name 
is  Collier." 

"That  was  an  old  debt  between  them,"  said  Holmes. 

"I  hope  there  will  be  no  discovery  as  to  Paten's  real 
name.     It  would  so  certainly  revive  the  old  scandal." 

"We  can  scarcely  expect  such  good  luck  as  that,  Loo. 
There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  dear;  we  must  put  the  sea  be- 
tween us  and  our  calumniators." 

''How  did  O'Shea  come  by  the  letters  if  he  had  no  hand 
in  it?  " 

"Perhaps  he  had;  perhaps  it  was  a  concerted  thing;  per- 
haps he  bought  up  the  letters  from  Collier  afterwards.  Is 
it  of  the  least  consequence  to  us  how  he  got  them?  " 

"Yes,  Collier  might  have  read  them,"  said  she,  in  a  hol- 
low voice;  and  as  Holmes,  startled  by  the  tones,  turned 
round,  he  saw  that  she  had  a  sickening  faintness  over  her, 
and  that  she  trembled  violently. 

"Where's  your  old  courage.  Loo?"  said  he,  cheeringly. 
"Paten  is  gone.  Collier  has  a  good  chance  of  being  sent 
after  him,  and  here  we  are,  almost  the  only  actors  left  of 
the  whole  drama." 

"That's  true,  papa,  very  true;  and  as  we  shall  have  to 
play  in  the  afterpiece,  the  sooner  we  get  the  tragedy  out  of 
our  heads  the  better." 

They  remounted  the  carriage,  and  went  on  their  way. 
There,  where  the  beech-trees  bend  across  the  road,  it  is 
there  they  have  just  disappeared !  The  brisk  tramp  of  the 
pony  can  be  heard  even  yet;  it  grows  fainter  and  fainter, 
and  only  the  light  train  of  dust  now  marks  their  passage. 
They  are  gone ;  and  we  are  to  see  them  no  more ! 


CHAPTER   Vm. 

CONSULTATION. 

Every  host  has  had  some  experience  of  the  fact  that  there 
are  guests  of  whom  he  takes  leave  at  the  drawing-room 
door,  and  others  who  require  that  he  should  accompany  them 
to  the  very  frontier  of  his  kingdom,  and  only  part  with  as 
they  step  into  their  carriage.  The  characters  of  a  story 
represent  each  of  these  classes.  Some  make  their  exit 
quietly,  unobtrusively;  they  slip  away  with  a  little  gesture 
of  the  hand,  or  a  mere  look  to  say  adieu.  Others  arise  with 
a  pretentious  dignity  from  their  places,  and,  in  the  ruffle  of 
their  voluminous  plumage,  seem  to  say,  "When  we  spread 
out  our  wings  for  flight,  the  small  birds  may  flutter  away  to 
their  nests."  It  is  needless  that  we  should  tell  our  readers 
that  we  have  reached  that  critical  moment.  The  dull  roll 
of  carriages  to  the  door,  and  the  clank  of  the  let-down  steps 
tell  that  the  hour  of  departure  has  arrived,  and  that  the 
entertainer  will  very  soon  be  left  all  alone,  without  "One 
of  Them." 

As  in  the  real  world,  no  greater  solecism  can  be  com- 
mitted than  to  beg  the  uprising  guest  to  reseat  himself,  nor 
is  there  any  measure  more  certain  of  disastrous  failure;  so 
in  fiction,  when  there  is  a  move  in  the  company,  the  sooner 
they  all  go  the  better. 

While  I  am  painfully  impressed  with  this  fact,  —  while  I 
know  and  feel  that  my  last  words  must  be  very  like  the 
leave-takings  of  that  tiresome  button-holder  who,  great- 
coated  and  muffled  himself,  will  yet  like  to  detain  you  in  the 
cold  current  of  a  doorway,  — I  am  yet  sensible  of  the  defer- 
ence due  to  those  who  have  indulgently  accompanied  me 
through  my  story,  and  would  desire  to  leave  no  questions 


656  ONE   OF  THEM. 

uoauswered  with  regard  to  those  who  have  figured  before 
him. 

Mr.  Trover,  having  overheard  the  dialogue  which  had  such 
an  intimate  bearing  on  his  own  fortunes,  lost  no  time,  as 
we  have  seen,  in  quitting  the  hotel  at  Bregenz ;  and  although 
Winthrop  expected  to  see  him  at  dinner,  he  was  not  sur- 
prised to  hear  that  he  had  left  a  message  to  say  he  had  gone 
over  to  the  cottage  to  dine  with  Mrs.  Hawke.  It  was  with 
an  evident  sense  of  relief  that  the  honest  American  learned 
this  fact.  There  was  something  too  repulsive  to  his  nature 
in  the  thought  of  sitting  down  at  the  same  table  in  apparent 
good  fellowship  with  the  man  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  villain, 
and  whose  villany  a  very  few  hours  would  expose  to  the 
world ;  but  what  was  to  be  done?  Quackinboss  had  insisted 
on  the  point;  he  had  made  him  give  a  solemn  pledge  to 
make  no  change  in  his  manner  towards  Trover  till  such  time 
as  the  Laytons  had  returned  with  full  and  incontestable 
proofs  of  his  guilt. 

''We'll  spoil  everything,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  "if  we 
harpoon  him  in  deep  water.  We  must  go  cautiously  to 
work,  and  drive  him  up,  gradually,  towards  the  shallows, 
where,  if  one  miss,  another  can  strike  him." 

Winthrop  was  well  pleased  to  bear  that  the  "chase  "  was 
at  least  deferred,  and  that  he  was  to  dine  tete-a-tete  with  his 
true-hearted  countryman. 

Hour  after  hour  went  over,  and  in  their  eager  discussion 
of  the  complicated  intrigue  they  had  unravelled,  they  lost 
all  recollection  of  Trover  or  his  absence.  It  was  the  char- 
acter of  the  woman  which  absorbed  their  entire  thoughts ;  and 
while  Winthrop  quoted  her  letters,  so  full  of  beautiful  senti- 
ments, so  elevated,  and  so  refined,  Quackinboss  related  many 
little  traits  of  her  captivating  manner  and  winning  address. 

"It's  all  the  same  in  natur',  sir,"  said  he,  summing  up. 
"Where  will  you  see  prettier  berries  than  on  the  deadly 
nightshade?  and  do  you  think  that  they  was  made  to  look 
so  temptin'  for  nothing?  Or  wasn't  it  jest  for  a  lesson  to 
us  to  say,  'Be  on  your  guard,  stranger;  what's  good  to 
look  at  may  be  mortal  bad  to  feed  on.'  There  's  many  a 
warnin'  in  things  that  don't  talk  with  our  tongues,  but  have 
a  language  of  their  own." 


CONSULTATION.  657 

"Very  true  all  that,  sir,"  resumed  the  other;  "but  it  was 
always  a  puzzle  to  me  why  people  with  such  good  faculties 
would  make  so  bad  a  use  of  them." 

'•Ain't  it  all  clear  enough  they  was  meant  for  examples, 
—  jest  that  and  no  more  ?  You  see  that  clever  fellow 
yonder;  he  can  do  fifty  things  you  and  I  could  n't;  he  has 
got  brains  for  this,  that,  and  t'other.  Well,  if  he  's  a  rogue, 
he  won't  be  satisfied  with  workin'  them  brains  God  has  given 
him,  because  he  has  no  right  sense  of  thankfulness  in  his 
heart,  but  he  '11  be  counterfitin'  all  sorts  of  brains  that  he 
hasn't  got  at  all:  these  are  the  devil's  gifts,  and  they  do 
the  devil's  work." 

"I  know  one  thing,"  said  Winthrop,  doggedly,  "it  is  that 
sort  of  folk  make  the  best  way  in  life." 

"Clear  wrong  —  all  straight  on  end  —  unsound  doctrine 
that,  sir.  We  never  think  of  countin'  the  failures,  the  chaps 
that  are  in  jail,  or  at  the  galleys,  or  maybe  hanged.  We 
only  take  the  two  or  three  successful  rogues  that  figure  in 
high  places,  and  we  say,  '  So  much  for  knavery.'  Now  let 
me  jest  ask  you,  How  did  they  come  there?  Wasn't  it  by 
pretendin'  to  be  good  men?  Wasn't  it  by  mock  charity, 
mock  patriotism,  mock  sentiment  in  fifty  ways,  supported 
now  and  then  b}'  a  bit  of  real  action,  just  as  a  forger  always 
slips  a  real  gold  piece  amongst  his  counterfeits?  And  what 
is  all  this  but  say  in'  the  way  to  be  prosperous  is  to  be 
good  —  " 

"  Or  to  seem  good !  "  broke  in  Winthrop. 

"AVell,  sir,  the  less  we  question  seemin'  the  better!  I  'd 
rather  be  taken  in  every  day  of  the  week  than  I  'd  go  on 
doubtin'  every  hour  of  the  day,  and  I  believe  one  must  come 
ver}^  nigh  to  either  at  last." 

As  they  thus  chatted,  a  light  post-carriage  rolled  into  the 
inn  yard,  and  Dr.  Layton  and  Alfred  hastily  got  out  and 
made  for  the  apartment  of  their  friends. 

"Just  as  I  said,  —  just  as  I  foretold.  —  the  certificate 
forged,  without  giving  themselves  the  trouble  to  falsify  the 
register,"  bi-oke  in  Layton.  "We  have  seen  the  book  at 
Meisner,  and  it  records  the  death  of  a  certain  sen'ing- 
woman,   Esther   Baumhardt,  who   was  buried   there   seven 


558  ONE   OF  THEM. 

years  ago.  All  proves  that  these  people,  in  planning  this 
knavery,  calculated  on  never  meeting  an  opponent." 

"Where  is  this  Mr.  Trover?"  said  Alfred.  "I  thought 
we  should  find  him  here  in  all  the  abandonment  of  friendly 
ease." 

"He  dined  at  the  cottage  with  his  other  friends,"  said 
Winthrop,  "for  the  which  I  owe  him  all  my  gratitude,  for  I 
own  to  you  I  had  sore  misgivings  about  sitting  down  with 
him." 

"I  could  n't  have  done  it,"  broke  in  the  old  doctor.  "My 
first  mouthful  would  have  choked  me.  As  it  is,  while  I  wait 
to  denounce  his  guilt,  I  have  an  uneasy  sense  of  complicity, 
as  though  I  knew  of  a  crime  and  had  not  proclaimed  it  to 
the  world." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  and  with  a  sententious 
slowness,  "  I  ain't  minded  like  either  of  you.  My  platform 
is  this :  Rogues  is  varmin ;  they  are  to  the  rest  of  mankind 
what  wolves  and  hyenas  is  to  the  domestic  animals.  Now, 
it  would  not  be  good  policy  or  good  sport  to  pison  these 
critturs.  What  they  desarve  is  to  be  hunted  down !  It  is 
a  rare  stimulus  to  a  fellow's  blood  to  chase  a  villain. 
Since  I  have  been  on  this  trail  I  feel  a  matter  of  ten  years 
younger." 

"And  I  am  impatient  to  follow  up  the  chase,"  said  the 
doctor,  who  in  his  eagerness  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
with  a  fretful  anxiety. 

"Remember,"  said  Alfred,  "that  however  satisfied  we 
ourselves  may  be  on  every  point  of  these  people's  culpa- 
bility, we  have  no  authority  to  arrest  them,  or  bring  them 
to  justice.  We  can  set  the  law  in  motion,  but  not  usurp  its 
action." 

"And  are  they  to  be  let  go  free?"  asked  Quackinboss. 
"Is  it  when  we  have  run  'em  to  earth  we  're  to  call  off  the 
dogs  and  go  home  ?  " 

"He's  right,  though.  Colonel,"  said  Winthrop.  "Down 
in  our  country,  mayhap,  we  'd  find  half  a  dozen  gentlemen 
who'd  make  Mr.  Trover's  trial  a  very  speedy  affair;  but 
here  we  must  follow  other  fashions." 

"Our  detective  friend  says  that  he'll  not  leave  them  till 
you  have  received    authority  from    home  to  demand  their 


J 


CONSULTATION.  659 

extradition,"  said  the  doctor.  "I  take  it  for  granted  forgery 
is  an  offence  in  every  land  in  Europe,  and,  at  all  events,  no 
State  can  have  any  interest  in  wishing  to  screen  them." 

While  they  thus  talked,  Alfred  Layton  rang  the  bell,  and 
inquired  if  Mr.  Trover  had  returned. 

The  waiter  said,  "No." 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  said  the  doctor.  "It  just  occurred 
to  me  that  he  might  have  seen  us  as  we  drove  up.  He  knows 
the  Colonel  and  myself  well." 

"And  you  suspect  that  he  is  off,  Alfred?" 

"It  is  not  so  very  unlikely." 

"Let  us  down  to  the  cottage,  then,  and  learn  this  at  once," 
said  Quackinboss;  "I'd  be  sore  riled  if  he  was  to  slip  his 
cable  while  we  thought  him  hard  aground." 

"Yes,"  said  the  doctor.  "We  need  not  necessarily  go 
and  ask  for  him ;  Winthrop  can  just  drop  in  to  say  a '  good- 
evening,'  while  we  wait  outside." 

"I  wish  you  had  chosen  a  craftier  messenger,"  said  Win- 
throp, laughing.  And  now,  taking  their  hats,  they  set  out 
for  the  Gebhardts-Berg. 

Alfred  contrived  to  slip  his  arm  within  that  of  Quackin- 
boss, and  while  the  others  went  on  in  front,  he  sauntered 
slowly  after  with  the  Colonel.  He  had  been  anxiously 
waiting  for  a  moment  when  they  could  talk  together,  and 
for  some  days  back  it  had  not  been  possible.  If  the  others 
were  entirely  absorbed  in  the  pursuit  of  those  who  had 
planned  this  scheme  of  fraud,  Alfred  had  but  one  thought, 

—  and  that  was  Clara.  It  was  not  as  the  great  heiress  he 
regarded  her,  not  as  the  owner  of  a  vast  property,  all  at  her 
own  disposal ;  he  thought  of  the  sad  story  that  awaited  her, 

—  the  terrible  revelation  of  her  father's  deatli,  and  the 
scarcely  less  liarrowing  history  of  her  who  had  supplied  the 
place  of  mother  to  her.  "She  will  have  to  learn  all  this," 
thought  he, "and  at  the  moment  that  she  hears  herself  called 
rich  and  independent,  she  will  have  to  hear  of  the  open 
shame  and  punishment  of  one  who,  whatever  the  relations 
between  them,  had  called  her  her  child,  and  assumed  to 
treat  her  as  her  own." 

To  make  known  all  these  to  Quack inl)oss,  and  to  induce 
him,  if  he  could,  to  regard  them  in  the  same  light  that  they 


660  ONE   OF  THEM. 

appeared  to  himself,  was  young  Layton's  object.  Without 
any  preface  he  told  all  his  fears  and  anxieties.  He  pictured 
the  condition  of  a  young  girl  entering  life  alone,  heralded 
by  a  scandal  that  would  soon  spread  over  all  Europe.  Would 
not  any  poverty  with  obscurity  be  better  thau  fortune  on 
such  conditions?  Of  what  avail  could  wealth  be,  when  every 
employment  of  it  would  bring  up  an  odious  history?  and 
lastly,  how  reconcile  Clara  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  her 
good  fortune,  if  it  came  associated  with  the  bitter  memory  of 
others  in  suffering  and  in  durance?  If  he  knew  anything  of 
Clara's  heart,  he  thought  that  the  sorrow  would  far  outweigh 
the  joy  the  tidings  of  her  changed  condition  would  bring 
her ;  at  least,  he  hoped  that  he  had  so  read  her  nature  aright, 
and  it  was  thus  that  he  had  construed  it. 

If  Quackiuboss  had  none  of  that  refined  appreciation  of 
sentiment  which  in  a  certain  measure  is  the  conventionality 
of  a  class,  he  had  what  is  infinitely  and  Immeasurably 
superior,  a  true-hearted  sympathy  with  everything  human. 
He  was  sorely  sorry  for  "that  widow- woman."  He  had  for- 
gotten none  of  the  charms  she  threw  around  their  evenings 
at  Marlia  long  ago,  and  he  was  slow  to  think  that  these 
fascinations  should  alwaj's  be  exercised  as  snares  and  de- 
ceptions, and,  last  of  all,  as  he  said,  "We  have  never  heard 
her  story  yet,  —  we  know  nothing  of  how  she  has  been 
tried." 

"What  is  it,  then,  that  you  propose  to  do?"  asked  the 
Colonel,  at  the  end  of  a  somewhat  rambling  and  confused 
exposition  by  young  Layton. 

"  Simply  this :  abandon  all  pursuit  of  these  people ;  spare 
them  and  spare  oui'selves  the  pain  and  misery  of  a  public 
shame.  Their  plot  has  failed;  they  will  never  attempt  to 
renew  it  in  any  shape;  and,  above  all,  let  not  Clara  begin 
the  bright  path  before  her  by  having  to  pass  through  a 
shadow  of  suffering  and  sorrow." 

"Ay,  there  is  much  in  what  you  say;  and  now  that  we 
have  run  the  game  to  earth,  I  have  my  misgivings  that  we 
were  not  yielding  ourselves  more  to  the  ardor  of  the  pursuit 
than  stimulated  by  any  love  of  justice." 

While  they  were  thus  talking,  the  others  had  passed  the 
little  wicket  and  entered  the  garden  of  the  cottage.     Struck 


CONSULTATION.  561 

by  the  quietness  and  the  unlighted  windows,  they  knocked 
hastily  at  the  door.  A  question  and  answer  revealed  all, 
and  the  doctor  called  out  aloud,  '"They  are  off!  They  are 
away! " 

Young  Layton  pressed  Quackinboss's  hand,  and  whis- 
pered,  "Thank  Heaven  for  it!  " 

If  Winthrop  laughed  heartily  at  an  escape  that  struck  him 
as  so  cleverly  effected,  the  doctor,  far  more  eager  in  pursuit 
than  the  others,  passed  into  the  house  to  interrogate  the 
people, —  learn  when  and  how  and  in  what  direction  they  had 
fled,  and  trace,  if  so  it  might  be,  the  cause  of  this  sudden 
departure. 

"See,"  cried  he,  as  the  others  entered  the  drawing-room, — • 
"see  what  a  sudden  retreat  it  has  been !  They  were  at  their 
coffee;  here  is  her  shawl,  too,  just  as  she  may  have  thrown 
it  off;  and  here  a  heap  of  papers  and  letters,  half  burned, 
on  the  hearth." 

"One  thing  is  clear  enough,"  said  Alfred;  "they  discov- 
ered that  they  had  lost  the  battle,  and  they  have  abandoned 
the  field." 

"What  do  I  see  here?  "  cried  the  doctor,  as  he  picked  up 
a  half-burned  sheet  of  paper  from  the  mass.  "  This  is  my 
own  writing;  my  application  to  the  Patent  Office,  when  I 
was  prosecuting  my  discovery  of  corrugated  steel!  When 
and  how  could  it  have  come  here?" 

"AYho  can  'My  dear  father'  be?"  asked  Quackinboss, 
examining  a  letter  which  he  had  lifted  from  the  floor.  "  Oh, 
here  's  his  name:  '  Captain  Nicholas  Holmes  '  —  " 

"Nick  Holmes!  "  exclaimed  the  doctor;  "the  fellow  who 
stole  my  invention,  and  threw  me  into  a  madhouse!  What 
of  him?     Who  writes  to  him  as  '  dear  father  '  ?  " 

"Our  widow,  no  less,"  said  the  Colonel.  "It  is  a  few 
lines  to  say  she  is  just  setting  out  for  Florence,  and  will  be 
with  him  within  the  week." 

"And  this  scoundrel  was  her  father!"  muttered  the  old 
doctor,  "  Only  think  of  all  the  scores  that  we  should  have 
had  to  settle  if  we  had  had  the  luck  to  be  here  an  hour  ago! 
I  thrashed  him  once  in  the  public  streets,  it 's  true,  but  we 
are  far  from  being  quits  yet.  Come,  let 's  lose  no  time,  but 
after  them  at  once." 


562  ONE   OF  THEM. 

Alfred  made  no  reply,  but  turned  a  look  on  Quackinboss, 
as  though  to  bespeak  his  interference. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel,  slowly,  "so  long  as  the 
pursuit  involved  a  something  to  find  out,  no  man  was  hotter 
arter  it  than  I  was;  but  now  that  we  know  all,  that  we 
have  baffled  our  adversaries  and  beaten  'em,  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  distress  myself  for  a  mere  vengeance." 

"Which  means  that  these  people  are  to  go  at  large,  free 
to  practise  their  knaveries  on  others,  and  carry  into  other 
families  the  misery  we  have  seen  them  inflict  here.  Is  that 
your  meaning?"  asked  the  doctor,  angrily. 

"I  can't  tell  what  they  are  a-goin'  to  do  hereafter,  nor, 
maybe,  can  you  either,  sir.  It  may  be,  that  with  changed 
hearts  they  '11  try  another  way  of  livin' ;  it  may  be  that 
they  '11  see  roguery  ain't  the  best  thing;  it  may  be  —  who  's 
to  say  how?  —  that  all  they  have  gone  through  of  trouble  and 
care  and  anxiety  has  made  them  long  since  sick  of  such  a 
wearisome  existence,  and  that,  though  not  very  strong  in 
virtue,  they  are  right  glad  to  be  out  of  the  pains  of  vice, 
whatever  and  wherever  they  may  be.  At  all  events,  Shaver 
Quackinboss  has  done  with  'em,  and  if  it  was  only  a-goin' 
the  length  of  the  garden  to  take  them  this  minute,  I  'd  jest 
say,  '  No,  tell  'em  to  slope  off,  and  leave  me  alone.'  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  these  are  not  your  home  maxims, 
and,  for  my  part,  I  like  Lynch  law  better  than  lax  justice," 
said  the  doctor,  angrily. 

"Lynch  law  has  its  good  and  its  bad  side,"  said  Quackin- 
boss, "and,  mayhap,  if  you  come  to  consider  the  thing 
coolly,  you  '11  see  that  if  I  was  rejecting  rigid  legality  here, 
it  was  but  to  take  the  benefit  of  Judge  Lynch,  only  this  time 
for  mercy,  and  not  for  punishment." 

"Ah,  there  is  something  in  that!  "  cried  the  doctor.  "You 
have  made  a  stronger  case  for  yourself  than  I  looked  for; 
still,  I  owed  that  fellow  a  vengeance!  " 

"It's  the  only  debt  a  man  is  dishonored  in  the  payin', 
sir.  You  know  far  more  of  life  than  I  do,  but  did  you 
ever  meet  the  man  yet  that  was  sorry  for  having  forgiven  an 
injury?  I'm  not  sayin'  that  he  might  n't  have  felt  disap- 
pointed or  discouraged  by  the  result,  — his  enemy,  as  he'd 
call  him,  mightn't  have  turned  out  what  he  ought;  but  that 


CONSULTATION.  663 

ain't  the  question:  did  you  ever  see  one  man  who  could  say, 
after  the  lapse  of  years,  '  1  wish  I  had  borne  more  malice, 
—  I'm  sorry  I  was  n't  more  cruel '  ?  " 

''Let  them  go,  and  let  us  forget  them,"  said  the  old  man, 
as  he  turned  and  left  the  room. 

Young  Layton  grasped  the  Colonel's  hand,  and  shook  it 
warmly,  as  he  said,  "This  victory  is  all  your  own." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WORDS    OF   GOOD    CHEEK. 

When  the  key-note  of  some  loug-sought  mystery  has 
sounded,  there  is  a  strange  fascination  in  going  over  and 
over  the  theme,  now  wondering  why  we  had  not  been  more 
struck  by  this  or  that  fact,  how  we  could  have  overlooked 
the  importance  of  this  incident  or  that  coincidence.  Trivial 
events  come  up  to  memory  as  missing  links  in  the  chain  of 
proof,  and  small  circumstances  and  chance  words  are  brought 
up  to  fill  the  measure  of  complete  conviction. 

It  was  thus  that  this  party  of  four  sat  almost  till  daybreak 
talking  over  the  past.  Each  had  some  era  to  speak  of  as 
especially  his  own.  Winthrop  could  tell  of  Godfrey  Hawke 
when  he  came  a  young  man  to  the  States,  and  married  his 
niece,  the  belle  and  the  heiress  of  her  native  city.  He 
remembered  all  the  praises  bestowed  upon  the  young  Eng- 
lishman's manners  and  accomplishments,  together  with  the 
graver  forebodings  of  others,  who  had  remarked  his  inordi- 
nate love  of  play  and  his  indifference  as  to  the  company  in 
which  he  indulged  it.  Next  came  the  doctor,  with  his  recol- 
lections of  the  man  broken  down  by  dissipation  and  excess, 
and  at  last  dying  of  poison.  There  was  but  little,  indeed, 
to  recall  the  handsome  Godfrey  Hawke  in  the  attenuated 
figure  and  distorted  countenance  of  that  miserable  de- 
bauchee; but  there  were  chance  traits  of  manner  that 
brought  up  the  man  to  Winthrop's  mind.  There  were  also 
on  the  scene  his  beautiful  wife,  at  that  time  in  the  fulness 
of  her  beauty.  What  a  charm  of  gentleness,  too,  did  she 
possess!  —  how  meekly  and  patiently  did  she  bear  herself 
under  provocations  that  seemed  too  great  for  human  endur- 
ance! The  doctor  had  to  own  that  she  actually  forfeited 
some  of  his  sympathy  by  the  impression  she  gave  him  of 


i 


WORDS  OF  GOOD  CHEER.  565 

being  one  deficient  in  a  nice  sense  of  self-esteem,  and  want- 
ing in  that  element  of  resistance  without  which  there  is  no 
real  dignity  of  nature.  "She  seemed  to  me,"  said  he,  "too 
craven,  too  abject  by  half,  —  one  of  those  who  are  born  to  be 
the  subject  of  a  tyranny,  and  who,  in  their  very  submission, 
appear  to  court  the  wanton  cruelty  of  an  '  oppressor,'  How 
rightly  I  read  her!"  cried  he;  "how  truly  1  deciphered  the 
inscription  on  her  heart!  and  yet,  I'll  be  sworn,  no  man 
living  could  have  detected  under  that  mask  of  gentleness  this 
woman  of  long-pondering  craft,  this  deeply  designing 
plotter !  " 

'■  Quackiuboss  and  I  saw  her  under  another  aspect,"  said 
Alfred.  "  She  was  depressed  and  sad,  but  only  so  much  so 
as  gave  an  added  charm  to  the  grace  of  her  eaptivations, 
and  made  her  every  effort  to  please  appear  somewhat  of  a 
sacrifice  of  herself  for  those  around  her." 

"Well,  ain't  it  strange,  gentlemen,"  said  Quackiuboss, 
"but  it's  a  fact,  she  never  deceived  me?  I  remember  the 
day  of  our  visit  at  Marlia;  after  that  adventure  with  the 
dog  she  fainted,  and  I  took  her  up  in  my  arms  and  carried 
her  to  the  house.  I  thought,  by  course,  she  was  insensible. 
Not  a  bit  of  it;  she  rallied  enough  to  open  her  eyes,  and 
give  me  one  of  the  most  wonderful  looks  ever  I  see  in  my 
life.  It  was  just  like  saying,  '  Shaver,  are  j'ou  quite  certain 
that  you  have  n't  got  in  your  arms  one  of  the  loveliest  crea- 
tures as  ever  was  formed?  Are  you  sure.  Shaver  Quackiu- 
boss, that  you  are  ever  to  have  such  another  piece  of  luck  as 
this  ?  '  And  so  certain  was  I  that  I  heerd  these  very  words  in 
my  ear,  that  I  said  aloud,  '  Darn  me  pale  blue  if  I  don't  wish 
the  house  was  half  a  mile  away!'  And  the  words  wasn't 
well  out  than  she  burst  out  a-laughin',  —  such  a  hearty,  joy- 
ous laugh,  too,  that  I  knew  in  my  heart  she  had  neither  pain 
nor  ache,  and  was  only  a-foxin'.  Well,  gentlemen,  we 
always  had  a  way  of  lookin'  at  each  other  arter  that  was 
quite  peculiar;  it  was  sayin',  'Never  fear,  all's  on  honor 
here.'  That  was,  at  least,  how  I  meant  it,  and  I  have  a 
notion  that  she  understood  me  as  well.  I  have  a  strong 
notion  that  we  understand  these  women  critturs  better  than 
you  Britishers !  " 

"You  must  leave  we  out  of  the  category  of  the  shrewd 


566  ONE  OF  THEM. 

ones,  however,"  said  Winthrop.  "I  saw  her  but  once  in 
my  life,  and  yet  I  never  came  away  from  a  visit  with  the 
same  amount  of  favorable  impression.  She  met  me  like  an 
old  friend,  but  at  the  same  time  there  was  a  delicacy  and 
reserve  about  her  that  seemed  to  say,  '  It  is  for  you  to  ratify 
this  compact  if  you  like.  When  you  sign  the  treaty,  it  is 
finished.' " 

From  the  discussion  of  the  past  they  proceeded  to  the 
future,  upon  which  all  felt  that  Winthrop  could  speak 
with  most  authority,  since  he  was  Clara's  kinsman  and 
guardian. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do  by  the  gal,  sir?"  asked  the 
Colonel. 

"I  intend  to  see  her  as  soon  as  I  can,  give  her  the  good 
news  of  her  accession  to  fortune,  and  leave  her  to  choose 
whether  she  will  come  back  with  me  to  the  States,  or  would 
prefer  that  I  should  remain  with  her  in  Europe." 

"And  ain't  there  any  other  alternative  possible  in  the 
case,  sir?"  asked  Quackinboss.  "Doesn't  it  strike  you  as 
just  possible  that  she  might  say  '  No'  to  each  of  these  pro- 
posals, and  fix  another  one  for  herself?" 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you,  Colonel,"  said  the  other. 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  talk  riddles,  sir.  What  I  mean  is,  that 
the  young  woman  may  have  other  thoughts  in  her  head  than 
either  of  your  plans;  and  now  I'll  call  upon  my  honor'ble 
friend,  Mr.  Alfred  Lay  ton,  to  address  the  House." 

Crimson  with  shame  and  confusion,  young  Layton  turned 
an  imploring  look  at  Quackinboss;  but  the  Colonel  was 
indifferent  to  the  appeal,  and  waved  his  hand  as  if  bespeak- 
ing silence. 

"It  is  rather  for  me  to  speak  here,"  said  the  doctor. 
*'My  son  has  to  begin  life  with  a  large  arrear  of  his  father's 
faults  to  redeem.  He  has  to  restore  to  our  name,  by  con- 
duct and  honorable  bearing,  the  fair  repute  that  once 
attached  to  it.  Honest  industry  is  the  safe  and  sure  road 
to  this,  and  there  is  no  other.  He  has  promised  to  try  and 
bring  back  to  me  in  his  name  the  suffrages  of  that  univer- 
sity which  I  forfeited  in  mijie.  If  he  succeed,  he  will  have 
made  me  proud  of  him." 

*'I  like  that,"  broke  in  Quackinboss.     "Square  it  all  first 


WORDS  OF  GOOD  CHEER.  567 

with  them  critturs  in  the  college,  and  then  think  of  a  wife. 
Go  at  it,  sir,  and  Avork  like  a  nigger;  there  ain't  nothing 
will  give  you  such  courage  as  the  very  fatigue  of  a  hard 
day's  work.  When  you  lie  down  at  night  so  dead  beat 
that  you  could  n't  do  more,  you  '11  feel  that  you  've  earned 
your  rest,  and  you  '11  not  lie  awake  with  misgivin's  and 
fancies,  but  you  '11  sleep  with  a  good  conscience,  and  arise 
refreshed  the  next  mornin'." 

"Alfred  and  I  settled  it  all  between  us  last  night,"  said 
the  doctor.  "There  was  but  one  point  we  could  not  arrange 
to  our  satisfaction.     "We  are  largely  indebted  to  you  —  " 

"Stop  her!  "  cried  the  Colonel,  as  though  he  were  giving 
the  word  from  the  paddle-box  of  a  steamer,  — "stop  her!  I 
ain't  in  a  humor  to  be  angry  with  any  one.  I  feel  as  how, 
when  the  world  goes  so  well  as  it  has  done  lately  with  us  all, 
that  it  would  be  main  ungrateful  to  show  a  peevish  or  dis- 
contented spirit,  and  I  don't  believe  that  there  's  a  way  to 
rile  me  but  one,  — jest  one,  —  and  you  've  a-hit  on't.  Yes, 
sir,  you  have !  " 

Quackinboss  began  his  speech  calmly  enough,  but  before 
he  finished  it  his  voice  assumed  a  hard  and  harsh  tone  very 
rare  with  him. 

"Remember,  my  dear  and  true-hearted  friend,"  broke  in 
Alfred,  "that  it's  only  of  one  debt  we  are  eager  to  acquit 
ourselves.  Of  all  that  we  owe  you  in  affection  and  in  grati- 
tude, we  are  satisfied  to  stand  in  your  books  as  long  as  we 
live." 

"I  ain't  a-goin'  to  square  accounts,"  said  the  Colonel; 
"but  if  I  was,  I  know  well  that  I'd  stand  with  a  long 
balance  ag'in'  me.  Meat  and  drink,  sir,  is  good  things,  but 
they  ain't  as  good  for  a  man  as  liberal  thoughts,  kind  feel- 
iu's,  and  a  generous  trust  in  one's  neighbor.  Well,  I  've 
picked  up  a  little  of  all  three  from  that  young  man  there, 
and  a  smatterin'  of  other  things  besides  that  I  'd  never  have 
larned  when  barking  oak  in  the  bush." 

Old  Lay  ton  shook  his  head  in  dissent,  and  muttered,  — 

"You  may  cancel  the  bond,  but  we  cannot  forget  the 
debt." 

"Let  me  arbitrate  between  you,"  said  Winthrop. 

"Leave   the  question  at  rest  till  this  day  twelvemonth. 


568  ONE  OF  THEM. 

Let  each  give  his  word  not  to  approach  it;  and  then  time, 
that  will  have  taught  us  many  a  thing  iu  the  mean  while,  will 
supply  the  best  expedient." 

They  gave  their  hands  to  each  other  in  solemn  pledge,  and 
not  a  word  was  uttered,  and  the  compact  was  ratified. 

"We  shall  leave  this  for  England  to-night,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"Not,  surely,  till  you  come  as  far  as  Milan  first? "'asked 
Winthrop. 

"He  's  right,  —  he  's  quite  right!  "  said  Quackinboss.  "If 
a  man  has  a  Polar  voyage  afore  him,  it 's  no  way  to  harden 
his  constitution  by  passin'  a  winter  at  Palermo.  Ain't  1 
right,  sir?" 

It  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  Alfred  Layton  did  not  yield 
a  very  willing  assent  to  this  arrangement;  but  he  stole  away 
from  the  room  uupei'ceived,  and  carried  his  sori'ow  with  him 
to  his  chamber.  He  had  scarcely  closed  his  door,  however, 
when  he  heai'd  Quackinboss's  voice  outside. 

"  I  ain't  a-comin'  to  disturb  you,"  said  he,  entering  ;  "  but 
I  have  a  word  or  two  to  say,  and,  mayhap,  can't  find  another 
time  to  say  it.  You  '11  be  wantin'  a  trifle  or  so  to  begin  with 
before  you  can  turn  to  earn  something  for  yourself.  You  '11 
find  it  there  in  that  pocket-book,  —  look  to  it  now,  sir,  I'll 
have  no  opposition,  —  it 's  the  best  investment  ever  I  had. 
You  '11  marry  this  girl ;  yes,  there  ain't  a  doubt  about  that, 
and  mayhap,  one  of  these  days  I  '11  be  a-comin'  to  you  to  ask 
favorable  terms  for  my  cousin  Obadiah  B.  Quackinboss,  that 's 
located  down  there  iu  your  own  diggin's,  and  you  'U  say,  '  Well, 
Colonel,  I  ain't  forgotten  old  times  ;  we  was  thick  as  thieves 
once  on  a  time,  and  so  fix  it  all  your  own  way.'  " 

Alfred  could  but  squeeze  the  other's  hand  as  he  turned 
away,  his  heart  too  full  for  him  to  speak. 

"  I  like  your  father,  sir,"  resumed  Quackinboss  ;  "  he's  a 
grand  fellow,  and  if  it  war  n't  for  some  of  his  prejudices 
about  the  States,  I  'd  say  I  never  met  a  finer  man." 

Young  Layton  saw  well  how  by  this  digression  the  Amer- 
ican was  adroitly  endeavoring  to  draw  the  conversation 
into  another  direction,  and  one  less  pregnant  with  exciting 
emotions. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  ain't  fair  to  us,"  resumed  the  Colonel.    "  He 


WORDS   OF   GOOD   CHEER.  569 

forgets  that  we  're  a  new  people,  and  jest  as  hard  at  work  to 
build  up  our  new  civilization  as  our  new  cities." 

"  There 's  one  thing  he  never  does,  never  can  forget,  —  that 
the  warmest,  fastest  friend  his  son  ever  met  with  in  life  came 
from  your  country." 

"  Well,  sir,  if  there  be  anj'thing  we  Yankees  are  famed  for, 
it  is  the  beneficial  employment  of  our  spare  capital.  "We 
don't  sit  down  content  with  three-and-a-half  or  four  per 
cent  interest,  like  you  Britishers,  we  look  upon  that  as  a 
downright  waste  ;  and  it 's  jest  the  same  with  our  feelin's 
as  our  dollars,  though  you  of  the  old  country  don't  think 
so.  We  can't  afford  to  wait  thirty,  or  five-and-thirty  years 
for  a  friendship.  We  want  lively  sales,  sir,  and  quick  re- 
turns. We  want  to  know  if  a  man  mean  kindly  by  us 
afore  we  've  both  of  us  got  too  old  to  care  for  it.  That 's 
how  I  come  to  like  you  first,  and  I  war  n't  so  far  out  in 
thinkin'  that  I  'd  made  a  good  investment." 

Alfred  could  only  smile  good-humoredly  at  the  speech,  and 
the  other  went  on,  — 

"You  Britishers  begin  by  givin'  us  Yankees  certain 
national  traits  and  habits,  and  you  won't  let  us  be  any- 
thing but  what  you  have  already  fashioned  us  in  your  own 
minds.  But,  arter  all,  I'd  have  you  to  remember  we  are 
far  more  like  your  people  of  a  century  back  than  you  your- 
selves are.  We  ain't  as  mealy-mouthed  and  as  p'lite  and 
as  smooth-tongued  as  the  moderns.  But  if  we  're  plain  of 
speech,  we  are  simple  of  habit ;  and  what  you  so  often  set 
down  as  rudeness  in  us  ain't  anything  more  than  our  wish 
to  declare  that  we  ain't  in  want  of  any  one's  help  or  as- 
sistance, but  we  are  able  to  shift  for  ourselves,  and  are 
independent." 

Quackinboss  arose,  as  he  said  this,  with  the  air  of  a  man 
wlio  had  discharged  his  conscience  of  a  load.  He  had  often 
smarted  under  what  he  felt  to  be  the  unfair  appreciation  of 
the  old  doctor  for  America,  and  he  thought  that  by  instilling 
sounder  principles  into  his  son's  mind,  the  seed  would  one 
day  or  other  produce  good  fruit. 

From  this  he  led  Alfred  to  talk  of  his  plans  for  the  future. 
It  was  his  father's  earnest  desire  that  he  should  seek  collegi- 
ate honors  in  the  university  which  had  once  repudiated  him- 


570  ONE  OF  THEM. 

self.  The  old  man  did  not  altogether  arraign  the  justice  of 
the  act,  but  he  longed  to  see  his  name  once  more  in  a  place 
of  honor,  and  that  the  traditions  of  his  own  triumphs  should 
be  renewed  in  his  son's. 

"  If  I  succeed,"  said  Alfred,  "  it  will  be  time  enough  after- 
wards to  say  what  next." 

"  You'll  marry  that  gal,  sir,  and  come  out  to  the  States. 
I  see  it  all  as  if  I  read  it  in  a  book." 

Alfred  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  and  was  silent. 

"  Well,  I  'm  a-goin'  to  Milan  with  Harvey  Winthrop ;  and 
when  I  see  the  country,  as  we  say,  I  '11  tell  you  about  the 
clearin'." 

' '  You  '11  write  to  me  too  ?  " 

"  That  I  will.  It  may  be  that  she  won't  have  outright  for- 
gotten me,  and  if  so,  she  '11  be  more  friendly  with  me  than 
an  uncle  she  has  never  seen  nor  known  about.  I  '11  soon  find 
out  if  her  head  's  turned  by  all  this  good  luck,  or  if,  as  I  hope, 
the  fortune  has  fallen  on  one  as  deserved  it.  Mayhap  she  '11 
be  for  goin'  over  to  America  at  once ;  mayhap  she  '11  have  a 
turn  for  doing  it  grand  here,  in  Europe.  Harvey  Winthrop 
says  she  '11  have  money  enough  to  buy  up  one  of  these  little 
German  States,  and  be  a  princess  if  she  likes ;  at  all  events 
you  shall  hear,  and  then  in  about  a  month  hence  look  out  for 
me  some  fine  evening,  for  I  tell  you,  sir,  I've  got  so  used  to 
it  now,  that  I  can't  get  through  the  day  without  a  talk  with 
you ;  and  though  the  doctor  and  I  do  have  a  bout  now  and 
then  over  the  Yankees,  I  'd  like  to  see  the  man  who  'd  abuse 
America  before  him,  and  say  one  word  against  England  in 
the  face  of  Shaver  Quackinboss." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  LETTER  FROM  ALFRED  LAYTON. 

When  Sir  William  Heathcote  learned  that  Mrs.  Morris  had 
quitted  his  house,  gone  without  one  word  of  adieu,  his  mind 
reverted  to  all  the  bygone  differences  with  his  son,  and  to 
Charles  did  he  at  once  ascribe  the  cause  of  her  sudden  flight. 
His  health  was  in  that  state  in  which  agitation  becomes  a 
serious  complication,  and  for  several  daj's  he  was  danger- 
ously ill,  violent  paroxysms  of  passion  alternating  with  long 
intervals  of  apathy  and  unconsciousness.  The  very  sight  of 
Charles  in  his  room  would  immediately  bring  on  one  of  his 
attacks  of  excitement,  and  even  the  presence  of  May  Leslie 
herself  brought  him  no  alleviation  of  suffering.  It  was  in 
vain  that  she  assured  him  that  Mrs.  Morris  left  on  reasons 
known  only  to  herself;  that  even  to  May  herself  she  had 
explained  nothing,  written  nothing.  The  old  man  obsti- 
nately repeated  his  conviction  that  she  had  been  made  the 
victim  of  an  intrigue,  and  that  Charles  was  at  the  bottom  of 
it.  How  poor  May  strove  to  combat  this  unjust  and  un- 
worthy suspicion,  how  eagerly  she  defended  him  she  loved, 
and  how  much  the  more  she  learned  to  love  for  the  defending 
of  him.  Charles,  too,  in  this  painful  emergency,  displayed 
a  moderation  and  self-control  for  which  May  had  never  given 
him  credit.  Not  a  hasty  word  or  impatient  expression 
escaped  him,  and  he  was  unceasing  in  every  attention  to  his 
father  which  he  could  render  without  the  old  man's  knowl- 
edge. It  was  a  very  sad  household  ;  on  every  side  there  was 
sickness  and  sorrow,  but  few  of  those  consolations  that  alle- 
viate pain  or  lighten  suffering.  Sir  William  desired  to  be 
left  almost  always  alone  ;  Charles  walked  moodily  by  himself 
in  the  garden  ;  and  May  kept  her  room,  and  seldom  left  it. 
Lord  Agincourt  came  daily  to  ask  after  them,  but  could  see 


672  ONE  OF  THEM. 

no  one.  Even  Charles  avoided  meeting  him,  and  merely 
sent  him  a  verbal  message,  or  a  few  hasty  lines  with  a 
pencil. 

Upwards  of  a  week  had  passed  in  this  manner,  when, 
among  the  letters  from  the  post,  which  Charles  usually 
opened  and  only  half  read  through,  came  a  very  long  epistle 
from  Alfred  Layton.  His  name  was  on  the  corner  of  the 
envelope,  and,  seeing  it,  Charles  tossed  the  letter  carelessly 
across  the  table  to  May,  saying,  in  a  peevish  irony,  "You. 
may  care  to  see  what  your  old  admirer  has  to  say ;  as  for  me, 
I  have  no  such  cui'iosity." 

She  paid  no  attention  to  the  rude  speech,  and  went  on 
with  her  breakfast. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  cried  he,  in  the  same  pettish 
tone,  "  that  you  don't  care  what  there  may  be  in  that  letter? 
It  may  have  some  great  piece  of  good  fortune  to  announce. 
He  may  have  become  a  celebrity,  a  rich  man,  —  Heaven 
knows  what.  This  may  contain  the  offer  of  his  hand. 
Come,  May,  don't  despise  destiny ;  break  the  seal  and  read 
your  fate." 

She  made  no  answer,  but,  rising  from  the  table,  left  the 
room. 

It  was  one  of  those  days  on  which  young  Heathcote's 
temper  so  completely  mastered  him  that  in  anger  with  him- 
self he  would  quarrel  with  his  dearest  friend.  Fortunately, 
they  were  now  very  rare  with  him,  but  when  they  did  come 
he  was  their  slave.  When  on  service  and  in  the  field,  these 
were  the  intervals  in  which  his  intrepid  bravery,  stimulated 
to  very  madness,  had  won  him  fame  and  honor ;  and  none, 
not  even  himself,  knew  that  some  of  his  most  splendid  suc- 
cesses were  reckless  indifference  to  life.  His  friends,  how- 
ever, learned  to  remark  that  Heathcote  was  no  companion  at 
such  times,  and  they  usually  avoided  him. 

He  sat  on  at  the  breakfast-table,  not  eating,  or  indeed 
well  conscious  where  he  was,  when  the  door  was  hastily 
thrown  open,  and  Agincourt  entered.  "  Well,  old  fellow," 
cried  he,  "  I  have  unearthed  you  at  last.  Your  servants 
have  most  nobly  resisted  all  my  attempts  to  force  a  passage 
or  bribe  my  way  to  you,  and  it  was  only  by  a  stratagem  that 
I  contrived  to  slip  past  the  porter  and  pass  in." 


THE   LETTER   FROM   ALFRED   LAYTON.  573 

"You  have  cost  the  fellow  his  place,  then,"  said  Charles, 
rudely;   "he  shall  be  sent  away  to-day." 

"  Nonsense,  Charley;  none  of  this  moroseness  with  me." 

"And  why  not  with  yon?"  cried  the  other,  violently. 
"Why  not  with  you?  You'll  not  presume  to  say  that  the 
accident  of  your  station  gives  you  the  privilege  of  intruding 
where  others  are  denied?     You  '11  not  pretend  that?" 

A  deep  flush  covered  the  young  man's  face,  and  his  eyes 
flashed  angrily ;  but  just  as  quickly  a  softened  expression 
came  over  his  countenance,  and  in  a  voice  of  mingled  kind- 
ness and  bantering,  he  said,  "I  '11  tell  you  what  I'll  pretend, 
Charley ;  I  '11  pretend  to  say  that  you  love  me  too  sincerely 
to  mean  to  offend  me,  even  when  a  harsh  speech  has  escaped 
you  in  a  moment  of  haste  or  auger." 

"Offend  you!"  exclaimed  Heathcote,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  utterly  puzzled  and  confused, — "offend  you!  How 
could  I  dream  of  offending  you?  You  were  not  used  to 
be  touchy,  Agincourt;  what,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  could 
make  you  fancy  I  meant  offence?" 

The  look  of  his  face,  the  very  accent  in  which  he  spoke, 
were  so  unaffectedly  honest  and  sincere  that  the  youth  saw 
at  once  how  unconsciously  his  rude  speech  had  escaped  him, 
and  that  not  a  trace  of  it  remained  in  his  memory. 

"I  have  been  so  anxious  to  see  you,  Charley,"  said  he,  in 
his  usual  tone,  "for  some  days  back.  I  wanted  to  consult 
you  about  O'Shea.  My  uncle  has  given  me  an  appointment 
for  him,  and  I  can't  find  out  where  he  is.  Then  there  's 
another  thing ;  that  strange  Yankee,  Quackinboss,  —  you 
remember  him  at  Marlia,  long  ago.  He  found  out,  by  some 
means,  that  I  was  at  the  hotel  here,  and  he  writes  to  beg  I  '11 
engage  I  can't  say  how  many  rooms  for  himself  and  some 
friends  who  are  to  arrive  this  evening.  I  don't  think  you 
are  listening  to  me,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  I  hear  you,  — go  on." 

"I  mean  to  clear  out  of  the  diggin's  if  these  Yankees 
come,  and  you  must  tell  me  where  to  go.  I  don't  dislike  the 
'  Kernal,'  but  his  following  would  be  awful,  eh?" 

"Yes,  quite  so." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  '  Yes  '  ?  Is  it  that  you  agree  with 
me,  or  that  you  haven't  paid  the  slightest  attention  to  one 
word  I  've  said?  " 


674  ONE  OF  THEM. 

"Look  here,  Agincourt,"  said  Charley,  passing  his  arm 
inside  the  other's,  and  leading  him  up  and  down  the  room. 
"I  wish  I  had  not  changed  my  mind;  I  wish  I  had  gone  to 
India.  I  have  utterly  failed  in  all  that  I  hoped  to  have  done 
here,  and  I  have  made  my  poor  father  more  unhappy  than 
ever." 

"Is  he  so  determined  to  marry  this  widow,  then?" 

"  She  is  gone.  She  left  us  more  than  a  week  ago,  with- 
out saying  why  or  for  whither.  I  have  not  the  slightest 
clew  to  her  conduct,  nor  can  I  guess  where  she  is." 

"When  was  it  she  left  this?" 

"On  Wednesday  week  last." 

"The  very  day  O'Shea  started." 

They  each  looked  steadfastly  at  the  other;  and  at  last 
Agincourt  said,  — 

"Would  n't  that  be  a  strange  solution  of  the  riddle,  Char- 
ley? On  the  last  night  we  dined  together  you  may  remem- 
ber I  promised  to  try  what  I  could  make  of  the  negotiation ; 
and  so  I  praised  the  widow,  extolled  her  beauty,  and  hinted 
that  she  was  exactly  the  clever  sort  of  woman  that  helps  a 
man  on  to  fortune." 

"  How  I  wish  I  had  gone  to  India !  "  muttered  Charles, 
and  so  immersed  in  his  own  cares  as  not  to  hear  one  word 
the  other  was  saying. 

"If  I  were  to  talk  in  that  way,  Charley,  you  'd  be  the  very 
first  to  call  out.  What  selfishness!  what  an  utter  indiffer- 
ence to  all  feelings  but  your  own !  You  ai-e  merely  dealing 
with  cei'tain  points  that  affect  yourself,  and  you  forget  a  girl 
that  loves  you." 

"Am  I  so  sure  of  that?  Am  I  quite  certain  that  an  old 
attachment  —  she  owned  to  me  herself  that  she  liked  him, 
that  tutor  fellow  of  yours  —  has  not  a  stronger  hold  on  her 
heart  than  I  have?  There  's  a  letter  from  him.  I  have  n't 
opened  it.  I  have  a  sort  of  half  suspicion  that  when  I  do 
read  it  I  '11  have  a  violent  desire  to  shoot  him.  It  is  just  as 
if  I  knew  that,  inside  that  packet  there,  was  an  insult  await- 
ing me,  and  yet  I  'd  like  to  spare  myself  the  anger  it  will 
cause  me  when  I  break  the  seal ;  and  so  I  walk  round  the 
table  and  look  at  the  letter,  and  turn  it  over,  and  at  last  —  " 
With  the  word  he  tore  open  the  envelope,  and  unfolded  the 


THE  LETTER  FROM   ALFRED   LAYTON.  575 

note.  "Has  he  not  given  me  enough  of  it?  One,  two, 
three,  ay,  four  pages !  When  a  man  writes  at  such  length, 
he  is  certain  to  be  either  very  tiresome  or  very  disagree- 
able, not  to  say  that  I  never  cared  much  for  your  friend  Mr. 
Layton;  he  gave  himself  airs  with  us  poor  unlettered 
folk  —  " 

"Come,  come,  Charley;  if  you  were  not  in  an  ill  mood, 
you  'd  never  say  anything  so  ungenerous." 

It  was  possible  that  he  felt  the  rebuke  to  be  just,  for  he 
did  not  reply,  but,  seating  himself  in  the  window,  began  to 
read  the  letter.  More  than  once  did  Agincourt  make  some 
remark,  or  ask  some  question.  Of  even  his  movements  of 
impatience  Heathcote  took  no  note,  as,  deeply  immersed  in 
the  contents  of  the  letter,  he  continued  to  read  on. 

"Well,  I'll  leave  you  for  a  while,  Charley,"  said  he,  at 
last;  "perhaps  I  may  drop  in  to  see  you  this  evening." 

"Wait;  stay  where  you  are!  "  cried  Heathcote,  abruptly, 
and  yet  not  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  lines  before  him. 
"What  a  story! — what  a  terrible  story!"  muttered  he  to 
himself.  Then  beckoning  to  Agincourt  to  come  near,  he 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  in  a  low  whisper  said,  "Who 
do  you  think  she  turns  out  to  be?  The  widow  of  Godfrey 
Hawke! " 

"I  never  so  much  as  heard  of  Godfrey  Hawke." 

"Oh,  I  forgot;  you  were  an  infant  at  the  time.  But 
surely  you  must  have  heard  or  read  of  that  murder  at  Jer- 
sey ?  —  a  well-known  gambler,  named  Hawke,  poisoned  by 
his  associates,  while  on  a  visit  at  his  house." 

"And  who  is  she?  " 

"Mrs.  Penthony  Morris.  Here's  the  whole  story.  But 
])egin  at  the  beginning." 

Seated  side  by  side,  they  now  proceeded  to  read  the  letter 
over  together,  nor  did  either  speak  a  word  till  it  was 
finislied. 

"  And  to  be  so  jolly  with  all  that  on  her  mind !  "  exclaimed 
Agincourt.  "Why,  she  must  have  the  courage  of  half  a 
dozen  men." 

"I  now  begin  to  read  the  meaning  of  many  things  I  never 
could  make  out:  her  love  of  retirement, — she,  a  woman 
essentially  of  the  world  and  society,  estranging  herself  from 


676  ONE   OF  THEM. 

every  one ;  her  strange  relations  with  Clara,  a  thing  which 
used  to  puzzle  me  beyond  measure ;  and  lastly,  her  remark- 
able injunction  to  me  when  we  parted,  her  prayer  to  be  for- 
gotten, or,  at  least,  never  mentioned." 

"You  did  not  tell  me  of  that." 

"Nor  was  it  my  intention  to  have  done  so  now;  it  escaped 
me  involuntarily." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  Clara?" 

"Don't  you  see  that  she  has  found  an  uncle,  —  this  Mr. 
Winthrop,  —  with  whom,  and  our  friend  Quackinboss,  she 
is  to  arrive  at  Rome  to-night  or  to-morrow?" 

"Oh,  these  are  the  friends  for  whom  I  was  to  bespeak  an 
apartment ;  so,  then,  I  '11  not  leave  my  hotel.  I  'm  delighted 
to  have  such  neighbors." 

"May  ought  to  go  and  meet  her;  she  ought  to  bring  her 
here,  and  of  course  she  will  do  so.  But,  first  of  all,  to 
show  her  this  letter;  or  shall  I  merely  tell  her  certain  parts 
of  it?" 

"I  'd  let  her  read  every  line  of  it,  and  I  'd  give  it  to  Sir 
William  also." 

Charles  started  at  the  counsel;  but  after  a  moment  he 
said,  "I  believe  you  are  right.  The  sooner  we  clear  away 
these  mysteries,  the  sooner  we  shall  deal  frankly  together." 

"I  have  come  to  beg  your  pardon.  May,"  said  Charles,  as 
he  stood  on  the  sill  of  her  door.  "I  could  scarcely  hope 
you  'd  grant  it  save  from  very  pity  for  me,  for  I  have  gone 
through  much  this  last  day  or  two.  But,  besides  your 
pardon,  I  want  your  advice.  When  you  have  read  over 
that  letter,  — read  it  twice,  — I  '11  come  back  again." 

May  made  him  no  answer,  but,  taking  the  letter,  turned 
away.  He  closed  the  door  noiselessly,  and  left  her.  What- 
ever may  be  the  shock  a  man  experiences  on  learning  that 
the  individual  with  whom  for  a  space  of  time  he  has  been 
associating  on  terms  of  easy  intimacy  should  turn  out  to  be 
one  notorious  in  crime  or  infamous  in  character,  to  a 
woman  the  revulsion  of  feeling  under  like  circumstances 
is  tenfold  more  painful.  It  is  not  alone  that  such  casual- 
ties are  so  much  more  rare,  but  in  the  confidences  between 
women  there  is  so  much  more  interchange  of  thought  and 
feeling  that  the  shock  is  proportionately  greater.     That  a 


THE  LETTER  FROM  ALFRED  LAYTON.      577 

man  should  be  arraigned  before  a  tribunal  is  a  stain,  but  to 
a  woman  it  is  a  brand  burned  upon  her  forever. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  May  and  Mrs.  Morris  lived 
together  as  sisters.  May  had  felt  all  the  influence  of  a 
character  more  formed  than  her  own,  and  of  one  who,  gifted 
and  accomplished  as  she  was,  knew  how  to  extend  that 
influence  with  consummate  craft.  In  those  long-ago  days 
May  had  confided  to  her  every  secret  of  her  heart, — her 
early  discontents  with  Charles  Heathcote;  her  pettish  mis- 
givings about  the  easy  confidence  of  his  security;  her  half 
flirtation  with  young  Layton,  daily  inclining  towards  some- 
thing more  serious  still.  She  recalled  to  mind,  too,  how 
Mrs.  Morris  had  encouraged  her  irritation  against  Charles, 
magnifying  all  his  failings  into  faults,  and  exaggerating 
the  natural  indolence  of  his  nature  into  the  studied  indiffer- 
ence of  one  "sure  of  his  bond."  And  last  of  all  she  thought 
of  her  in  her  relations  with  Clara, —  poor  Clara,  whose  heart, 
overflowing  with  afiiection,  had  been  repelled  and  schooled 
into  a  mere  mockery  of  sentiment. 

That  her  own  fortune  had  been  wasted  and  dissipated 
by  this  woman  she  well  knew.  Without  hesitation  or 
inquiry.  May  had  signed  everything  that  was  put  before  her, 
and  now  she  really  could  not  tell  what  remained  to  her  of  all 
that  wealth  of  which  she  used  to  hear  so  much  and  care  so 
little. 

These  thoughts  tracked  her  along  every  line  of  the  letter, 
and  through  all  the  terrible  details  she  was  reading;  the 
woman  herself,  in  her  craft  and  subtlety,  absorbed  her  entire 
attention.  Even  when  she  had  read  to  the  end,  and  learned 
the  tidings  of  Clara's  fortune,  her  mind  would  involuntarily 
turn  back  to  Mrs.  Penthony  Morris  and  her  wiles.  It  was 
in  an  actual  terror  at  the  picture  her  mind  had  drawn  of 
this  deep  designing  woman  that  Charles  found  her  sitting 
with  the  letter  before  her,  and  her  eyes  staring  wildly  and 
on  vacancy. 

"I  see.  May,"  said  he,  gently  taking  her  hand,  and  seat- 
ing himself  at  her  side,  "this  dreadful  letter  has  shocked 
yon,  as  it  has  shocked  me;  but  remember,  dearest,  we  are 
only  looking  back  at  a  peril  we  have  all  escaped.  She  has 
not  separated  us ;  she  has  not  involved  us  in  the  disgrace  of 


578  ONE  OF  THEM. 

relationship  to  her ;  she  is  not  one  of  us ;  she  is  not  anything 
even  to  poor  Clara ;  and  though  we  may  feel  how  narrowly 
we  have  avoided  all  our  dangers,  let  us  be  grateful  for  that 
safety  for  which  we  really  contributed  nothing  ourselves. 
Is  it  not  so,  dearest  May  ?  We  have  gained  the  harbor,  and 
never  knew  that  we  had  crossed  a  quicksand." 

"And,  after  all,  Charles,  painful  as  all  this  is  now,  and 
must  be  when  remembered  hereafter,  it  is  not  without  its 
good  side.  We  will  all  draw  closer  to  each  other,  and  love 
more  fondly  where  we  can  trust  implicitly." 

"And  you  foi-give  me,  May ?  " 

"Certainly  not  —  if  you  assume  forgiveness  in  that 
fashion ! " 

Now,  though  this  true  history  records  that  May  Leslie 
arose  with  a  deep  flush  upon  her  cheek,  and  her  massy  roll 
of  glossy  hair  somewhat  dishevelled,  there  is  no  mention  of 
what  the  precise  fashion  was  in  which  Charles  Heathcote 
sued  out  his  pardon;  nor,  indeed,  with  our  own  narrow 
experiences  of  such  incidents,  do  we  care  to  hazard  a 
conjecture. 

"And  now  as  to  my  father.  May.  How  much  of  this 
letter  shall  we  tell  him  ?  " 

"All ;  every  word  of  it.  It  will  pain  him,  as  it  has  pained 
us,  or  even  more;  but,  that  pain  once  over,  he  will  come 
back,  without  one  reserved  thought,  to  all  his  old  affection 
for  us,  and  we  shall  be  happy  as  we  used  to  be." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

AN   EAGER  GUEST. 

When  Lord  Agincourt  returned  to  his  hotel,  he  was  aston- 
ished to  see  waiters  passing  in  and  out  of  his  apartment 
with  trays  covered  with  dishes,  decanters  of  wine,  and 
plates  of  fruit;  but  as  he  caught  the  deep  tone  of  O'Shea's 
voice  from  within,  he  quickly  understood  how  that  free- 
and-easy  personage  was  making  himself  at  home. 

"Oh,  it  is  here  you  are!  "  said  Agincourt,  entering;  "and 
Charley  and  I  have  been  just  speculating  whether  you  might 
not  have  been  expiating  some  of  your  transgressions  in  an 
Austrian  jail." 

"I  am  here,  as  you  perceive,"  said  the  O'Shea,  wiping 
his  lips  with  his  napkin,  "and  doing  indifferently  well,  too. 
By  the  way  they  treat  me,  I  'm  given  to  believe  that  your 
credit  stands  well  with  the  hotel  people." 

"When  did  you  arrive?  " 

"An  hour  ago;  just  in  time  to  make  them  roast  that 
hedgehog.  They  call  it  a  sucking-pig,  but  I  know  it 's  a 
hedgehog,  though  I  was  eight-and-forty  hours  without 
eating." 

"How  was  that? " 

"This  way,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  out  the  lining  of  his 
pockets,  and  showed  that  they  were  perfectly  empty.  "I 
just  left  myself  enough  for  the  diligence  fare  from  Bologna, 
and  one  roll  of  bread  and  a  pint  of  wine  as  I  started;  since 
that  I  have  tasted  nothing  but  the  pleasures  of  hope.  Don't 
talk  to  me,  therefore,  or  talk  away,  but  don't  expect  me  to 
answer  you  for  fifteen  minutes  more." 

Agincourt  nodded,  and  seated  himself  at  the  table,  in 
quiet  contemplation  of  the  O'Shea's  performance.  "I  got 
an  answer  to  my  letter  about  you,"  said  he,  at  length,  and 


680  ONE   OF  THEM. 


and  his  curiosity. 

O'Shea  gave  a  nod,  as  though  to  say  "'Proceed;"  but 
Agincourt  said  nothing. 

"Well,  go  on!  "  cried  O'Shea,  as  he  helped  himself  to 
half  a  duck. 

"It's  a  long-winded  sort  of  epistle,"  said  Agincourt, 
now  determined  to  try  his  patience  to  the  uttermost.  "1  '11 
have  to  show  it  to  you." 

"Is  it  Yes  or  No?"  asked  O'Shea,  eagerly,  and  almost 
choking  himself  with  the  effort  to  speak. 

"That 's  pretty  much  how  you  take  it.  You  see,  my  uncle 
is  one  of  those  formal  old  fellows  trained  in  olficial  life, 
and  who  have  a  horror  of  doing  anything  against  the  tradi- 
tions of  a  department  —  " 

"Well,  well,  well!  but  can't  he  say  whether  he  '11  give  me 
something  or  not?  " 

"So  he  does  say  it,  but  you  interrupt  me  at  every 
moment.  When  you  have  read  through  his  letter,  you  '11 
be  able  to  appreciate  the  difficulties  of  his  position,  and 
also  decide  on  what  you  think  most  conducive  to  your  own 
interests." 

O'Shea  groaned  heavily,  as  he  placed  the  remainder  of  the 
duck  on  his  plate. 

"What  of  your  duel?     How  did  it  go  off ? " 

"Beautifully." 

"Did  your  man  behave  well?" 

"Beautifull}'." 

"Was  he  hit?  " 

A  shake  of  the  head. 

"Was  the  Frenchman  wounded?" 

"Here  —  flesh  wound  —  nothing  serious." 

"That 's  all  right.  I  '11  leave  you  now,  to  finish  your 
lunch  in  quiet.  Y"ou  '11  find  me  on  the  Pincian  when  you 
stroll  out." 

"Look  here!  Don't  go!  Wait  a  bit!  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  in  one  word,  —  can  I  get  anything  or  not  ?  " 

The  intense  earnestness  of  his  face  as  he  spoke  would 
have  made  any  further  tantalizing  such  a  cruelty  that  Agin- 
court answered  frankly,  "Yes,  old  fellow,  they  've  made  you 


AN  EAGER   GUEST.  581 

a  Boundary  Commissiouer;  I  forget  where,  but  you  're  to 
have  a  thousand  a  year,  and  some  allowances  besides." 

"This  is  n't  a  joke?  You 're  telling  me  truth?  "  asked  he, 
trembling  all  over  with  anxiety. 

"On  honor,"  said  Agincourt,  giving  his  hand. 

"You're  a  trump,  then;  upon  my  conscience,  you're  a 
trump.  Here  I  am  now,  close  upon  eight-and-thirty,  —  I 
don't  look  it  by  five  years,  but  I  am,  —  and  after  sitting  for 
four  sessions  in  Parliament,  not  a  man  did  I  ever  find  would 
do  me  a  hand's  turn,  but  it 's  to  a  brat  of  a  boy  I  owe  the 
only  bit  of  good  fortune  of  my  whole  life.  That 's  what  I 
call  hard,  — very  hard." 

•'I  don't  perceive  that  it's  ver}^  complimentary  to  myself, 
either,"  said  Agincourt,  struggling  to  keep  down  a  laugh. 
But  O'Shea  was  far  too  full  of  his  own  cares  to  have  any 
thought  for  another's,  and  he  went  on  muttering  below  his 
breath  about  national  injustice  and  Saxon  jealousy. 

"You'll  accept  this,  then?     Shall  I  say  so?" 

"I  believe  you  will!  I'd  like  to  see  myself  refuse  a 
thousand  a  year  and  pickings." 

"I  suspect  I  know  what  you  have  in  your  mind,  too.  I  '11 
wager  a  pony  that  I  guess  it.  You  're  planning  to  marry 
that  pretty  widow,  and  carry  her  out  with  you." 

O'Shea  grew  crimson  over  face  and  forehead,  and  stared 
at  the  other  almost  defiantly,  without  speaking. 

"Ain't  I  right?"  asked  Agincourt,  somewhat  discon- 
certed by  the  look  that  was  bent  upon  him. 

"You  are  not  right;  you  were  never  more  wrong  in  j'our 
life." 

"May  be  so;  but  you  '11  find  it  a  hard  task  to  persuade 
me  so." 

"I  don't  want  to  persuade  you  of  anything;  but  this  I 
know,  that  you  've  started  a  subject  there  that  I  won't  talk 
on  with  you  or  any  one  else.  Do  you  mind  me  now?  I  'm 
willing  enough  to  owe  you  the  berth  you  offered  me,  but  not 
upon  conditions;  do  you  perceive  —  no  conditions." 

This  was  not  a  very  intelligible  speech,  but  Agincourt 
could  detect  the  drift  of  the  speaker,  and  caught  him 
cordially  by  the  hand,  and  said,  "If  I  ever  utter  a  word  that 
offends  you,  I  pledge  my  honor  it  will  be  through  inadver- 
tence, and  not  intention." 


582  ONE   OF  THEM. 

"That  will  do.  I  'm  your  debtor,  now,  and  without  mis- 
givings. I  want  to  see  young  Heathcote  as  soon  as  I  can. 
Would  I  find  him  at  home  now?" 

"I  '11  get  him  over  here  to  dine  with  us.  We  '11  have  a 
jolly  evening  together,  and  drink  a  boundless  success  to  the 
Boundary  Commissioner.  If  I  don't  mistake,  too,  there  's 
another  good  fellow  here  would  like  to  be  one  of  us." 

"Another!  who  can  he  be?" 

"Here  he  comes  to  answer  for  himself."  And,  as  he 
spoke,  Quackinboss  lounged  into  the  room,  with  his  hands 
deep  in  his  trousers-pockets,  and  his  hat  on  his  head. 

"Well,  sir,  I  hope  I  see  you  in  good  health,"  said  he  to 
Agiucourt.  "You've  grown  a  bit  since  we  met  last,  and 
you  ain't  so  washy-lookin'  as  you  used  to  be." 

"Thanks.  I  'm  all  right  in  health,  and  very  glad  to  see 
you,  besides.  Is  not  my  friend  here  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  yours,  —  the  O'Shea?  " 

"The  O'Shea,"  said  Quackinboss,  slowly,  laying  great 
stress  upon  the  definite  article. 

"The  O'Shea!     Yes,  sir." 

"You  may  remember  that  we  met  at  Lucca  some  time 
back,"  said  O'Shea,  who  felt  that  the  moment  was  embar- 
rassing and  unpleasant. 

'"Yes,  sir.  '  The  Shaver'  recollects  you,"  said  he,  in  a 
slow,  drawling  tone;  "and  if  I  ain't  mortal  mistaken, 
there  's  a  little  matter  of  account  unsettled  between  us." 

"I  'm  not  aware  of  any  dealings  between  us,"  said  O'Shea, 
haughtily. 

"Well,  sir,  /  am,  and  that  comes  pretty  much  to  the 
same  thing.  You  came  over  to  Lucca  one  day  to  see 
young  Layton,  and  you  saw  me,  and  we  had  a  talk  together 
about  miscellaneous  matters,  and  we  didn't  quite  agree, 
and  we  parted  with  the  understandin'  that  we  'd  go  over  the 
figures  again,  and  make  the  total  all  right.  I  hope,  sir,  you 
are  with  me  in  all  this  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  I  remember  it  all  now.  I  went  over  to 
settle  a  difference  I  had  had  with  Layton,  and  you,  with 
that  amiable  readiness  for  a  fight  that  distinguishes  your 
countrymen,  proposed  a  little  row  on  your  own  account; 
somethins;  —  I    forget   what  it  was  now  —  interfered  with 


AN   EAGER  GUEST.  583 

each  of  us  at  the  time,  but  we  agreed  to  let  it  staud  over  and 
open  for  a  future  occasion." 

"You  talk  like  a  priuted  book,  sir.  It's  a  downright 
treat  to  hear  you.     Go  on,"  said  the  Colonel,  seriously. 

"It's  my  turn  now,"  broke  in  Agincourt,  warmly,  "and 
I  must  say,  I  expected  both  more  good  sense  and  more  gen- 
erosity from  either  of  you  than  to  make  the  first  moment  of 
a  friendly  meeting  the  occasion  of  remembering  an  old 
grudge.  You  '11  not  leave  this  room  till  3^ou  have  shaken 
hands,  and  become  —  what  you  are  well  capable  of  being  — 
good  friends  to  each  other." 

"I  have  no  grudge  against  the  Colonel,"  said  O'Shea, 
frankl}'. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  slowly,  "I  'm  thinkin'  Mr. 
Agincourt  is  right.  As  John  Randolf  of  Roanoke  said, 
'  The  men  who  are  ready  to  settle  matters  with  the  pistol  are 
seldom  slow  to  set  them  right  on  persuasion.'  Here  's  my 
hand,  sir." 

"You  '11  both  dine  with  me  to-day,  I  hope,"  said  Agin- 
court. "My  friend  here,"  added  he,  taking  O'Shea's  arm, 
"has  just  received  a  Government  appointment,  and  we  are 
bound  to  '  wet  his  commission  '  for  him  in  some  good 
claret." 

They  accepted  the  hospitable  proposal  readil}^  and  now, 
at  perfect  ease  together,  and  without  one  embarrassing 
thought  to  disturb  their  intercourse,  they  sat  chatting  away 
pleasantly  for  some  time,  when  suddenly  Quackinboss 
started  up,  saying,  "Darn  me  a  pale  pink,  if  I  haven't  for- 
got all  that  I  came  about.  Here  's  how  it  was."  And  as 
he  spoke,  he  took  Agincourt  to  one  side  and  whispered 
eagerly  in  his  ear. 

"But  they  know  it  all,  my  dear  Colonel,"  broke  in  Agin- 
court. "Charles  Heathcote  has  had  the  whole  story  in  a  long 
letter  from  Layton.  I  was  with  him  this  morning  when  the 
post  arrived,  and  I  read  the  letter  myself ;  and,  so  far  from 
entertaining  any  of  the  doubts  you  fear,  they  are  only  impa- 
tient to  see  dear  Clara  once  more  and  make  her  '  One  of 
Them.'  " 

"AVell,  sir,  I  'm  proud  to  know  it,"  said  the  Colonel,  "not 
only  because  it  was  my  own  readiu'  of  'em,  but  whenever  I 


584  ONE   OF  THEM. 

hear  anything  good  or  generous,  I  feel  as  if  —  bein'  a  human 
crittur  myself  —  I  came  in  for  some  of  the  credit  of  it. 
The  doubt  was  never  mine,  sir.  It  was  my  friend,  Mr.  Har- 
vey Winthi-op,  that  thought  how,  perhaps,  there  might  be  a 
scruple,  or  a  hesitation,  or  a  sort  of  backwardness  about 
knowin'  a  gal  with  such  a  dreadful  story  tacked  to  her.  '  In 
Eu-rope,  sir,'  says  he,  '  they  won't  have  them  sort  of  things; 
they  ain't  like  our  people,  who  are  noways  displeased  at  a 
bit  of  notoriety. '  " 

"There !  —  look  there !  —  the  whole  question  is  decided  al- 
ready," said  Agincourt,  as  he  drew  the  other  towards  the 
window  and  pointed  to  the  street  below.  "There  go  the  two 
girls  together;  they  have  driven  off  in  that  carriage,  and 
Clara  has  her  home  once  more  in  the  midst  of  those  who 
love  her." 

"I'm  bound  to  say,  sir,"  said  Quackinboss,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "that  you  Britishers  are  a  fine  people. 
You  have,  it  is  true,  too  many  class  distinctions  and  grades 
of  rank  among  you,  but  you  have  a  main  hearty  sympathy 
that  teaches  you  to  deal  with  human  sufferin'  as  a  thing  that 
makes  all  men  kindred;  and  whenever  it 's  your  lot  to  have 
to  do  a  kindness,  you  double  the  benefit  by  the  delicacy  you 
throw  into  it." 

"  That 's  a  real  good  fellow,"  said  O'Shea,  as  Quackinboss 
quitted  the  room. 

"Is  he  not?"  cried  Agincourt.  "  If  I  ever  harbor  an 
ungenerous  thought  about  Yankees,  I  know  how  to  correct 
it,  by  remembering  that  he  's  '  One  of  Them.' " 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CONCLUSION. 

Most  valued  reader,  can  you  number  amongst  your  life  ex- 
periences that  very  suggestive  one  of  revisiting  some  spot 
where  you  had  once  sojourned  pleasantly,  with  scarcely  any 
of  the  siuTOundings  which  first  embellished  it?  With  all  the 
instruction  and  self-knowledge  derivable  from  such  an  in- 
cident, there  is  a  considerable  leaven  of  sorrow,  and  even 
some  bitterness.  It  is  so  very  hard  to  believe  that  we  are 
ourselves  more  changed  than  all  around.  We  could  have 
sworn  that  waterfall  was  twice  as  high,  and  certainly  the  lake 
used  not  to  be  the  mere  pond  we  see  it ;  and  the  cedars,  — 
surely  these  are  not  the  cedars  we  were  wont  to  sit  under 
■with  Marian  long  ago?  Oh  dear!  when  I  think  that  I  once 
fancied  I  could  pass  my  life  in  this  spot,  and  now  I  am 
actually  impatient  for  day-dawn  that  I  may  leave  it ! 

With  something  of  this  humor  three  persons  sat  at  sunset 
under  the  old  beech-trees  at  the  Bagni  di  Lucca.  They  were 
characters  in  this  true  history  that  we  but  passingly  presented 
to  our  reader,  and  may  well  have  lapsed  from  his  memory. 
They  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morgan  and  Mr.  Mosely,  who 
had  by  the  merest  accident  once  more  met  and  renewed 
acquaintance. 

"  My  wife  remembered  you,  sir,  the  moment  you  entered 
the  table  cVhote  room.  She  said,  'There  's  that  young  man 
of  Trip  and  Mosely's,  that  we  saw  here  —  was  it  three  years 
ago?'" 

"Possibly,"  was  the  dry  response.  "3fy  memory  is 
scarcely  so  good." 

"  You  know  I  never  forget  a  face,  Tom,"  broke  in  the 
lady. 

"  I  constantly  do,"  said  Mosely,  tartly. 


686  ONE   OF   THEM. 

' '  Yes,  but  you  must  see  so  many  people  every  day  of 
your  life,  such  hordes  passing  in  and  passing  out,  as  I  said 
to  Morgan,  it 's  no  wonder  at  all  if  he  can't  remember  us." 

Mr.  Mosely  had  just  burned  his  finger  with  a  lucifer-mateh, 
and  muttered  something  not  actually  a  benediction. 

"Great  changes  over  Italy  —  indeed,  over  all  Europe  — 
since  we  met  last  here,"  said  Morgan,  anxious  to  get  discus- 
sion into  a  safer  region. 

"  YeS;  the  Italians  are  behaving  admirably;  they've 
shown  the  world  that  they  are  fully  capable  of  winning  their 
liberty,  and  knowing  how  to  employ  it." 

"  Don't  believe  it,  sir,  —  bigoted  set  of  rascals,  —  it 's  all 
pillage, —  simple  truth  is,  the  Governments  were  all  too  good 
for  them." 

"  You're  right,  Tom;  perfectly  right." 

"  He'll  not  have  many  to  agree  with  him,  then;  of  that, 
madam,  be  well  assured.  The  sympathies  of  the  whole 
world  are  with  these  people." 

"Sympathies!  —  I  like  to  hear  of  sympathies!  Why 
won't  sympathies  mend  the  holes  in  their  pantaloons,  sir, 
and  give  them  bread  to  eat  ?  " 

Mosely  arose  with  impatience,  and  began  to  draw  on  his 
gloves. 

"  Oh,  don't  go  for  a  moment,  sir,"  broke  in  the  lady. 
"  I  am  so  curious  to  hear  if  you  know  what  became  of  the 
people  we  met  the  last  time  we  were  here?  " 

"  Which  of  them?" 

"  Well  —  indeed,  I'd  like  to  hear  about  all  of  them." 

"  I  believe  I  can  tell  you,  then.  The  Heathcotes  are 
living  in  Germany.  The  young  man  is  married  to  Miss 
Leslie,  but  no  great  catch  either,  for  she  lost  about  two- 
thirds  of  her  fortune  in  speculation  ;  still,  they  've  got  a 
fine  place  on  the  Elbe,  near  Dresden,  and  I  saw  them  at  the 
Opera  there  a  few  nights  ago." 

' '  And  that  young  fellow  —  Layton,  or  Leighton  —  " 

"  Layton.  He  made  a  good  thing  of  it.  He  married  the 
girl  they  called  Miss  Hawke,  with  a  stunning  fortune ;  their 
yacht  is  waiting  for  them  now  at  Leghorn.  They  say  he  's 
the  first  astronomer  of  the  day.  I  can  only  tell  you,  that  if 
his  wife  be  like  her  picture  in  this  year's  Exhibition,  she  's 


CONCLUSION.  587 

the  handsomest  woman  in  England.  I  heard  it  all  from 
Colonel  Quackinboss." 

"  And  so  you  met  Quackinboss?  " 

"  Yes,  he  came  out  fi'om  England  in  Lay  ton's  schooner, 
and  is  now  gone  down  to  join  Garibaldi.  He  says,  '  Come  si 
fa?'  isn't  such  a  poor  devil  as  he  once  thought  him  ;  and  if 
they  do  determine  to  strike  a  blow  for  freedom,  an  American 
ought  to  be  '  Oke  of  Them.'  " 


THE  END. 


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^//7     /J^' 

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» 

> 

.^    ^    .      ^y       ^'^^ 

LD.21-100to-8,'34 

^ 


193071 


illli 


